CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(Monographs) 


ICMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographles) 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microraproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


I  yi   Coloured  covers  / 


n 

D 
D 

D 

n 

D 

D 

D 


D 


Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommag6e 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restauree  et/ou  pelliculde 

Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  g6ographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material  / 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Only  edition  available  / 
Seule  edition  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
interior  margin  /  La  reliure  serr6e  peut  causer  de 
I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge 
int6rieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajout6es  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  cians  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  ^t^  film^es. 

Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-§tre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  m6tho- 
de  normale  de  filmage  so:it  indiqu4s  ci-dessous. 

I I   Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I I   Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagees 


D 


Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculees 


Q   Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  d^olor^es,  tachetees  ou  piqu^es 

I      I   Pages  detached  /  Pages  d6tach6es 

I  y/|   Showthrouah  /  Transparence 

r~?  Quality  of  print  varies  / 


D 
D 


D 


Quality  in^gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 
tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  6t6  film6es  a  nouveau  de  fa?on  k 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
film6es  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


This  Item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  iMiow  / 

Ce  document  eat  film*  au  Uux  de  rMuction  Indiqu*  ci-deasoua. 


10x 


12x 


14x 


18x 


16x 


20x 


22x 


26x 


30x 


24x 


J 


28x 


32x 


mMf::^'yWWK'-. 


Th«  copy  filmed  h«r«  hat  b««n  raproducad  thanks 
I    tha  ganaroaity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  filmi  fut  raproduit  graca  i  la 
g*n4rositA  da: 

Bibliotheque  nationale  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  at*  tha  bast  quality 
possibia  considaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  cenuact  apacif icationa. 


Las  imagas  suivantas  ont  it*  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin.  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nanat*  da  l'axamplaira  filma,  at  »n 
conformita  avac  las  conditions  du  contrai  da 
filmaga. 


Original  copias  in  printad  papar  covars  ara  filmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  eovar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  improa- 
sion.  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copias  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impraa- 
sion.  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  impression. 


Tha  last  recorded  frame  on  eech  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —^(meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Mapa,  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Lea  exemplairea  originaux  dont  la  couverture  an 
pepier  est  imprimae  sont  filmic  en  commen^ant 
par  la  premier  plat  at  an  terminant  soit  par  la 
darniire  paga  qui  comporta  une  empreinta 
d'imprasaion  ou  d'illustration.  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Toua  las  autras  axemplairas 
originaux  sont  filmis  an  commandant  par  la 
premiire  paga  qui  comporta  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  at  an  terminant  par 
la  darniire  paga  qui  comporta  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dea  symbolaa  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
darniire  image  da  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  la  symbola  — »  signifie  "A  SUIVRE ',  le 
symbola  ▼  aignifie  "FIN". 

Las  cartaa.  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  atre 
filmis  A  dea  taux  da  reduction  diffirants. 
Lorsque  Is  document  est  trop  grand  pour  atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichi.  il  est  filmi  a  partir 
da  Tangle  supirieur  gauche,  de  gauche  i  droite, 
et  da  haut  an  baa.  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imegea  nicassaira.  Lea  diagrammea  suivants 
illustrent  la  mithoda. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

^'         lllllH  ^    «>S^«'^?'»;»e>i^ttt?!i'« 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^i^ 

1^ 

56     13.2 

1^ 

r  1^ 

■       |4^ 

m 

_J     APPLIED  IIVMGE 


'653   East    Main    Street 
Rochester,    Ne»   York         14609       USA 
'16)    482  -  OJOO  -  ^'i,one 
,"6)    288  -  5989  -  Fa» 


.tivir^ 


; 


<f' 


/ 


T.    \ 


•>^ 


>  1  ^v  ^ 


/y 


■^ 


THE    JVEB   OF  TIME 


By  Robert  E.  Knovvles 

The  Web  of  Time 


Cloth,  SI. 50. 

Mr.   Knowles  has  been 


iptly  described  both 
land  as  the  "Ian   M: 


Ur^n'^  "K^  '"}'^  in  Scotfand  as  the  "Ian  Mar 
n^rlLl,  1  ^^"^'^^l  Certain  it  is  that  out  of  his 
parish  he  has  pictured  a  type  of  riisged,  honest 
God  fearinK  peop.e  that  will  take  rant  with  well 
^"rr",'^''^="^l';':''pf  "The  Honnie  Brier  B  sh"or 
wf.h^v '"'*  Minister."  His  latest  novel  dea?; 
with  this  same  sort  of  people.    It  will  add  to  Mr 

^e">?:':;t,ri:n:;ei'^^^'"-'-  -  ^  --"^'  -"o'^i^ 

The  Dawn  at  Shanty  Bay 

Decorated  and  Illustrated  by  Gri.selda 
M.  McClure.  Cloth,  boxed,  net  ;S1.0(). 
"A  movinRtalein  which  strong  appeals  are  made 
to  the  deepest  feelinfjs  of  hunian  nature  hfs  a 
Christmas  tale,  but  it  has  lessons  that  mav  b^ 
learned  witli  profit  at  any  season.  In  addufon  U 
^^Z/Z)'^.  *'"  '"°''  '^^cinating  style.-''S;.' 


The  Undertow 


Ihtrd 


A  Tale  of  both  Sides  of  the  Sea 
Edition.  Cloth,  ;gl.oO. 
"The  reader's  interest  is  strongly  held  from  thp 
beKinmng.  What  is  really  the^list  part^f  ^he 
ail  hor's  work  is  that  which  has  to  doVbr  n  I 
out  so  fine  y  and  strongly  th.-  shar.  ly  deAne'^ 
Ltucago  hicnnig  Post.  "wmc 


St.  Cuthbert's 


A  Parish  Romance.  Tenth  Edition. 
Cloth,  ^1.50. 

j;^s!^s^  of  hum^r';ihicn  .  ^^,X'^:^J^^l,l 
Beyond  the  kindly  humor  of  the  sketches  thev  are 

s  i'Tilw  .u"M'"'f'  ''''^  sentiment  and  pathos'^  It 
IS  a  new  he  d  of  romantic  nterest  Mr  Knowlps 
-pens  up  in  6t.  Cuthberfs."-^/i<r„V^';^„"      '^^ 


IP!^ 


THE  WEB   OF  TIME 


By 
ROBERT  E.  K'NOWLES 

Author  of ''St.  C.t/arrr'sr  ..jhe  Vnderto^.v,- 
the   Dawn  at  Shanty  p„y  " 


^'W    York 


w.«.  rork         Chicago  Toronto 

Fleming   H.    Revel/    Company 

London  and  K  ^ •     h  . 

"««  hdtnburgh 


'•V 


142372 


Copyright,    looS,   by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  isR  Finii  Avenue 
Chicago:  So  Wabash  Avenue 
Toronto:  35  Richmond  Street,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:      100    l>rinces    Straet 


^%;k-:.^is'^^/^ 


To 

My  Daughter 

ELIZABETH  ELLIS  KnoX  KNQVVLES 

whose   gentle    hands  guided 
from    afar    have    woven    many 
a  golden  strand  into  life's  mys- 
terious   7veb  this    book   is  dedi- 
cated zt'ith    unuttered  fondness 


..'IM.' 


CONTENTS 


I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVHJ. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 


The  Ashes  on  the  Hearth 

The  Wine-Press  Alone 

Love's  Labourer 

The  Riches  of  the  Poor 

A  Flow  of  Soul 

An  Investment 

"  Effectual  Calling  " 

Of  Such  is  the  Kingdom 

A  Belated  ENqtriRER 

Sheltering  Shadows 

Food  for  Thought 

The  Encircling  Gloom 

I  he  Dews  of  Sorrow 

The  Weighing  ok  the  Anchor 

A  Parental  Parley 

Dm'iu  the  Diplomat 

Friendship's  Ministrv 

VoU  Fs  DK  -iHi.;   J^vsr 

A  Hrush  WriH  Death 
The  Restorinc;  of  a  SoirL 
A  Heated  Dehaie    . 
7 


9 

21 

25 

36 

45 

55 
6i 

72 
80 

89 

97 
no 

123 

'31 
151 

159 

170 

182 

200 
21 1 
217 


(.-j^r^M. 


XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 
XXXVIII. 


CON  FEN  IS 

Breakers  Ahead 
Ingenuity  ok  Love 
The  Victor's  Spoils    . 
What  Made  the  Ball  so  Fine  ? 
"The     Fair     Sweet     Morn 
Awakes  "         .         , 

A  Brother's  Mastery 

A  Light  at  Midnight 

How  David  Swept  the  Field 

A  Journalist's  Injunctions 

The  Trough  of  the  Wave 

Harvey's  Unseen  Deliverer 

Plain  Living  and  High  Think 

ING  . 

The  Overflowing  Hour 
"  Into  His  House  of  Wine  " 
A  Mistress  of  Finance 
The  Conqueror's  Home-Going 
The  Fleeing  Shadows 


231 
246 

267 
283 

295 

307 

325 
33(> 
346 

359 

368 

379 
389 

393 

40c 

408 


u 


THE  WEB  OF  TIME 


THE   ASHES   ON    THE   HEARTH 


it 


N 


O,  father's  not  home  yet— go  to  sleep, 
dear,"  and  the  mother-liand  tucked  the 
clothes  securely  about  the  two  snuo-Hng 
forms;  ..don't  .,k  any  more.  Harvey,  or  >^u'll 
waken  Jessie— and  go  to  sleep." 

Mrs.  Simmons  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  crooning 
softly  to  the  wakeful  baby  in  her  arms.     Glancing  at 
the  clock,  she  marked,  with  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise, how  late  it  was.     '•  He  might  be  in  any  minute 
now,    she  said  to  herself  as  she  thrust  in  another 
stick  for  the  encouragement  of  the  already  steaming 
kettle.     Then  she  busied  herseK  a  few  minutes  about 
the  table;  a  brief  pause,  as  if  pondering,  ended  in 
her    moving   quickly   towards    the    pantry,   emer- 
•ng  a  moment  later  with  some  little  luxury  in  her 
hand. 

"  Poor  Ned,  this  night-work  seems  so  hard-if  he's 
working  at  all,"  she  thought  to  herself,  <-  and  he'll  be 
cold  and  tired  when  he  comes  in-hush,  baby,  isn't 

9 


M) 


TUB   IV ER    OF    TIMl: 


that  your  father?  "  as  she  la.d  a  finger  on  the  crow- 
ing  hps. 

The  footfall  came  nearer,  firm  and  steady,  too_at 
uh.ch  the  anxious   face  lighted  up;  but  a  moment 
later  ,t  was  gone,  and  silence  reigned  again.     TIk 
baby  seemed,  in  some  mysterious  way.  to  share  the 
disappo.ntment ;    in   any  case,  it  became  suddenly 
qu.et.  the  big  blue  eyes  gazing  up  at  the  mother's 
-Ihe  unfathomed  depths,  as  such  depths  are  prone  to 
do,  seemed  to  start  some  hidden  springs  of  thour^ht 
Ml   the  woman's  mind ;    for  the  anxious  eyes  that 
peered  mto  them  were  now  suffused  with  tears  then 
bright  again  with  maternal  fondness  as  she  clasped 
the  mfant  to  her  breast. 

For  she  dreaded  the  home-coming  of  her  husband, 
even  while  she  longed  for  it.  The  greatest  of  all 
books  assures  us  that  fear  is  cast  out  by  love-but 
loxe  may  still  fear  something  in  the  very  one  it  loves 
above  all  others  ;  some  alien  habit,  some  sin  that 
changes  the  whole  complexion  of  a  soul.  And  thus 
was  It  with  the  wife  who  now  awaited  her  husband'i 
coming  with  a  troubled  heart. 

It  had  not  been  ever  thus,  h'ar  different  had  it 
been  in  the  happy  lays  uith  which  her  thou-^Ms 
were  busy  now  as  she  n.oved  hither  and  thither,  do'- 

buk^ht  and  cheery  before  her  husband  should  arrive 
Ihase  vanished  days  had  been  happy  ones  indeed,' 

with  nothing  to  cloud  their  joy. 

When  Edward  Simmons  first  crossed  her  path,  she 

knew  that  her  hour  of  destiny  had  come.     He  was 


The    ASHES   on    The    HEARTH      ,, 

only  a  journeyman   printcr-but  he  was  handso.nc 
and  chivalrous  and  fascinat.n. ;  sensitive  to  the  1 
degree,  impenous  by  nature,  but  tender  in  the  ex 
press.on  of  his  love  for  her      A  nH  Ur.  . 

siirp  r,f  fj  u  .  '""^"^r.  And  how  rapturously 
sure  of  the  happiness  that  lay  before  them  both^ 
Iass:onate  m  temper  he  undoubtedly  was-but  tide- 
ful  natures  ever  are.  And  he  was  slower  to  forgive 
himself  than  others.  'i^rj^ive 

Tirf  wl,t''^r'/'"''  """"  '"""  ^  Sirl,  a  fatherless 
B.rl,  when  first  she  met  Edward  Simmons-Ned  as 
h.  fnends  all  called  him_and  in  less  than  a  yea" 
after  „e,r  meeting  she  gave  herself  to  him  forever 

year  had  parsed,  ,t  «as  new-quickened  and  enriched 
beyo,,d  all  of  which  she  had  ever  dreamed.  I  er 
firs  born  son  c- ne  to  swell  the  fullness  of  her  joy 
and  Eden  ,tself  broke  i„.„  flower  at  his  com  ng' 
11.  angursh  and  the  ecstasy  of  „,„.,,.rh„„d  had 
come  tw.ce  agam  smce  tl,en_and  she  n.arvelled  at 
tl.e  new  spring  of  love  that  each  new  baby  hand 
smites  m  the  wilderness  of  life. 

lint  the  sky  had  darkened      VVl,.  „     ,    . 
bnghtes.^thec,ondshadgathL."'st:ad::;- 

eTab'  .  .1,  '"";    '■■■■■"■"  '•'""  ■="='"'  "'••"■■■'Bemenn.ad 
cnab.uJ   her   t,>  garner  a  little,  month  fay  n.onth  • 
vomanhke,  .sh.  was  already  taking  ,h.„,g|  t  o    h 'w 
■veysho,,,  hcedncatcd.     And  j„st  when  evJr7- 
Ihing   .ec„,e,l   prosperous,  that   awlul    trouble   hul 
c^me  among  the  printers-between  the  n.aste^s  an 
"'e  "len       1  hen  came  strikes  and  idleness-work  by 
spasmodic   starts,   followed   by  new  upheavals   and 


'^  THE    U/EB    OF    TIME 

deepening  bittcrne.-s— and  Ned  had  bee  a  more  with 
the  muttering  men  than  with  his  Annie  and  the 
children.  - 

And—this  was  so  much  worse— he  had  gradually 
fallen  a  victim  to  a  sterner  foe.     A  tainted  breath  at 
first ;  later  on,  thick  and  confused  utterance  when  he 
came  home  at  night ;  by  and  by,  the  unsteady  gait 
and    the    clouded    brain— one    by   one    the   dread 
symptoms  had  become  apparent  to  her.     She  had 
known,  when  she  married,  that  his  lather  had  been  a 
drmker ;  and  one  or  two  of  her  friends  had  hinted 
darkly    about     hereditary    appetite-but    she    had 
laughed    c.    their    fears.     Hereditary    or     not,    the 
passion  was  upon  him—and  growing.     Lack  of  work 
proved  no  barrier.     Little  by  little,  he  had  prevailed 
on  her  to  give  him  of  her  hard-saved  treasure,  till 
the  little  fund  in  the  post-office  savings  was  seriously 
reduced. 

But  there  was  another  feature,  darker  still.     It  had 
changed    him    so.     His   whole    moral    nature   had 
suffered    loss.     No  wonder    the  woman's  face  bore 
tokens  of  anxiety  as  she  waited  and  watched  through 
the  long  midnight  hours ;  for  drink  always  seemed 
to   clothe   her   husband   with   a   kind   of   savagery 
foreign  to  his  nature,  and  more  than  once  she  had 
trembled   before   his    glance  and  shuddered  at   his 
words.     Against  this,  even  her  love  :eemed  power- 
less   to    avail;    for— and   it   is    often   so   with   the 
mysterious   woman  heart-she  seemed  but   to  love 
h.m  the  more  devotedly  as  she  felt  him  drifting  out 
to  sea.    She  could  only  stretch  vain  hands  towards  the 


The    ASHES   on    The    HEARTH      13 

cruel  billows  amid  which  she  could  see  his  face— but 
the  face  she  saw  was  ever  that  of  happier  days. 

Suddenly  she  started,  her  heart  leaping  like  a 
hunted  hare  as  she  heard,  far-off,  clear  sounding 
through  the  stillness  of  the  night,  the  footfall  she 
was  waiting  for.  The  child's  eyes  seemed  to  fasten 
themselves  upon  the  mother's  as  if  they  caught  the 
new  light  that  suddenly  gleamed  within  them  ;  she 
held  her  babe  close  as  she  went  swiftly  to  the  door 
and  slipped  out  into  the  night.  The  silent  stars 
looked  down  on  the  poor  trembling  form  as  she 
stood  and  waited,  shivering  some — but  nol  with 
cold— listening  for  the  verdict  her  ears  must  be 
the  first  to  catch. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait ;  and  the  verdict  would 
have  been  plain  to  any  who  could  have  seen  her  face 
as  she  turned  a  moment  later  and  crept  back  into  the 
house.  The  stamp  of  anguish  was  upon  it ;  yet, 
mechanically,  the  babe's  eyes  still  on  hers,  she 
took  up  the  little  teapot  and  poured  in  the  boiling 
water— the  kettle  went  on  with  its  monotonous 
melody.  She  had  just  time  to  hurry  up  and  steal  a 
glance  at  the  children;  they  were  asleep,  thank 
God. 

The  baby  turned  its  eyes  towards  the  door  as  the 
shambling  feet  came  up  to  it  and  the  unsfeady  hand 
lifted  the  latch.  The  mother  pretended  to  be  busied 
about  the  table,  but  the  eager  eyes  stole  a  quick 
glance  at  her  husband,  darkening  with  sorrow  a? 
they  looked.  The  man  threw  off  his  coat  as  soon  as 
he  entered. 


M 


THE   IVEB   OF   TIME 


"-\Z'Z7"  ''°  '""  '"  "  ""*•  ■"•"^-al  voice 

W   voice    returned      She  "td    I' ;.    "  t"""'"''^ 
--VJ"  and  rui..  pour. her  ^l-otZ^; 

o=t  *;  ::.„7::aj;^«r7  -;-*  '"etaue, 

day's  been  the  devH^  h  P""  '"'  f'="-    ''  To- 

'ell  you-there's  on  y  „„'  CT  ''  "  '  ""''  '«'  ' 
too  much  of  that     But  ll      ^    ™"''  ^"''  '''''^  ^^d 
"Yon    h:i "!         """^eottohaveit." 

timidi;,  t^t;  ir'  ?  "''"■  '"''■  ^"^  -M 
instincUvely  ^.  °Z  "^"  '°  ''™'  ^"  ^"""''-6 
knows  youf  Ned  "  ■"""P'  ""  -"^  ^™-^he 

-ch  h^ve :"  ^^v::^^  "-"--ow 

andretrreThrdiM'-^^-f'-"^^- 
fearful  of  his  n.l  Z.  ,'.    ""^  "'other  went  on, 

••  What's  that  ;,;     T"^'°  ''"S""'  h™  ">"^ 
angrily.    CO  *™'nd  .''°  "''*  "?"  he  demanded 

"The's'trirerhrdt'ivein""?    """    ''^"'^"">'- 

-f to  ~t;tTisX-irT" "  T 

IS  left  out  o'  wli:,f  ,.   '  ^^  "°^v  "luch 

-B  a  cup  Of  tea.only  to    eTit  fail    f'^T'I"'" 
"K  hand  so  suddenly  that  "  "'"'''" 

table.    ..  ^  "'^'  "  '"as  spilled  about  the 

"There's  about  three  hundred,  Ned."  she  .aid 


The    ylSHES   on    The    HEARTH      is 

hesitatingly.     -  We  did  have  nearly  five,  you  know 
—we  ve  used  such  a  lot  of  it  lately." 

"  I  want  some  of  it,"  he  said  gruffly.  "  I've  got 
to  pay  into  the  fund  for  the  men-and  anyhow  I 
want  money.     Who  earned  it  i      .  wasn't  me  ?  " 

"  Oh.  Ned,"  she  began  pleadingly,  "please  don't- 
please  don't  make  me,  dear.  It's  all  we've  got-and 
Its  taken  so  long  to  save  it;  and  if  times  get  worse 
—if  you  don't  get  work  ?  " 

The  pitiful  debate  was  waged  a  little  longer. 
Suddenly  she  noticed-but  could  not  understand-a 
pecuhar  change  that  came  slowlv  over  his  counte- 
nance. 

"  Maybe  you're  right."  lie  said  at  last,  a  leer  of 
cunmng  on  lus  face.  -  There  ain't  goin'  to  be  any 
quarreLin  between  us.  is  there?     We'll  see  about  it 

he  bener  to  achieve  his  purpose.  "  You've  always 
stood  by  me.  Annie,  an'  you  won't  go  back  on  me 
now.  Hello,  baby."  as  he  tried  to  snap  his  l.mp 
hngers.  commg  closer  to  the  two 

The  child  laughed  and  held  out  its  arms.  The 
father  s  feet  scraped  heavily  on  the  floor  as  he  shuffled 
towards  .t.  .;  Ic  knows  its  dad  all  right,"  he  said  in 
mauahn  merriment ;  "glad  to  see  its  old  dad-if  he 
did  get  fired.  Come,  baby,  come  to  your  old  dad  " 
and  he  reached  out  both  hands  to  fake  it 

The    mother's    terror   was    written    in    her   eyes. 

a?ch       H  '  f  ^-^-'^'  P'-e;-  she  said;   -she'll 
catch  cold-I've  got  her  all  wrapped  up  " 

"I'll  keep  the  blanket  round  her."  he  mumbled ; 


m 


i6 


THE    IVER    OF    TIME 


jjcome  to  your  old  dad.  baby,"   his  vo.ce  rising  a 

But  his  wife  drew  back.     .-  Please  don't  to-night. 
Ned.    she  remonstrated  ;  "  it'll  only  exc.te  her  more 
-and  I  can  t  get  her  to  sleep,"  she  pleaded  evasively 
H.S   heavy  eyes    flashed    a  little.     .•  I  want  that 
young  un,    he  said  sullenly,  advancing  a  little  •  •<  I 
am  t  goin'  to  cat  her." 

Tl  .  mother  retreated  farther,  her  lips  white  and 
et  her  eves  leaping  from  the  babe's  face  to  its 
fathers.  .<  can't.  Ned."  she  said ;  Met  us  both 
carry  her.  dear;  come,  we'll  make  a  chair  of  our 
nands.  like  we  used  to  do  for  Harvey-and  I'll  keen 
my  arm  about  her.  so."  and  she  held  out  one  hand, 
holdmg  the  baby  firm  with  the  other. 

He  struck  it  down.     "  Give  me  that  young  'un  " 

shrilT''''  ^"'  "°'^'"'''  '^'^''^'"^'  ^''  ''''''^  '^'^^y  ^"^ 
She  stood  hke  a  wild  thing  at  bay.  "  I  won't 
Ned.  I  won't,"  her  voice  rang  out ;  "  good  God.  Ned' 
Jt  isn  t  safe-go  back."  she  cried,  her  voice  ringing 
ikc  a  trumpet  as  she  held  the  now  terrified  infant  to 
her  breast,  the  child  rising  and  falling  as  her  bosom 
neaved  in  terror. 

His  eyes,  unsteady  now  no  longer,  never  left  her 
face  as  he  mo\cd  with  a  strange  dexterity  nearer  and 
nearer  to  them  both.  The  woman  glanced  one  mo- 
ment into  the  lurking  depths,  all  aflame  with  the 
awful  hght  that  drunkenness  and  anger  combine  to 
give,  saw  the  outstretched  hand,  felt  the  fumes  out- 
breathmg  from   the   parted   lips-ani   with   a   low 


i 


""   -^^"^  <"'    r.e   HEARTH      „ 
gurgling  cry  she  sprang  like  a  .in,.„j.j  , 
tlic  door.     Hu,  he  „as  ^  "^"^  '"""''^ 

Wmselfheadlo,gayns.  ,  r  '7  ""■  "'"SinR 
by  the  fail,  he  „L  o„  h  s  L  f;"""^"  ='"''  ^'"'•••"='' 
«  her  .,l<ir,  as  he  arose  '"  '"'""'■  ■^""•^•""B 

"Give  me  that   yountr   'un      i,„        j   ^ 
•■^an,„„e,„.e',,se^„hL:,;i,d'':hi:t."'"°'''^'- 
'!.al  ne:::":re7I  tr"  '""■  '"=  'ow  loaning 
moment,  .heTepie"  bal  """"''  ^'^^^'-^  "«'«  ^ 

the  little  arm'  td  the  "r'  '"  '""'^  "^'-^  "" 
and  sensitive  half  ?e,  TT^"'  ^"  '"^''"«  1"'<:l' 
dreadful  vre-ichil/of  rf     "  '"""  "  ""•■  f"-""  ">e 

a  rasp  he  ::c'Zt^,T^'^J'''t  ,'"" 
as    the    strain    .,^«        jj  '  '^^^''"S  backward 

--Peratett  sl^ ^  ^'^  j'^^' ,.  ^-.^^ng 
Strain   had    been   too  ^     u  ?        ^""seh.     But  the 

THe  ehild  rXrhisTa^Vrtrrmr"- 

'otr;etv'r.Lr^r-^^ 

towards  ,l,em  1  hi  ^utdl  "  7™"  ^P""«'"^" 
and  bore  her  heavi ^  dJ^l'T,  """^  'f  ^°  "" 
the  two,  the  =ile„t  i„f,  !  L  '"''"  "<>»■  betuven 
p^.^  ...lent  mfant  beneath  the  struggling 

She  was  on  hpr  f  .o«.   •     ...i 
•earing  him  asidn^t    "  erh  '"""'"^  °'  ""  '>"=• 
the   baby  lay  in   ,h '   u    "^7  """"  '"'"eth-     B"t 
troubled  pii„rim,i,         '^    ""'  '""""^^  •    't^   brief 
■'•earners 'p'"lntrsrr  '"'■     ^'"'  «"•■  "«'e 

-"-•ne:ti.r.hi: :::-—-:::--- 


l8 


■i  HE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


hand.     And  the  kettle  on  the  stove  still  murmured 
its  unconscious  song. 

****** 

The  evil  spirit  had  departed  from  the  man. 

It  had  gone  forth  with  the  destroying  angel,  both 
with  their  dread  work  well  performed.  And  the  man 
knew — with  preternatural  acuteness  he  interpreted 
his  handiwork  in  an  instant. 

And  they  knelt  together— that  is  the  wonder  of  it 
—together,  above  the  baby  form.  Both  noted  the 
dimpled  hand,  and  the  rosebud  mouth— both  touched 
the  flaxen  hair.  No  word  of  chiding  fell— from  the 
mother's  lips  nothing  but  an  inarticulate  broken  flow, 
sometimes  altogether  still,  like  the  gurgling  of  an  ice- 
choked  brook. 

But  he  was  the  first  to  declare  that  the  child  was 
dead,  maintaining  it  fiercely,  his  eye  aglow  now  with 
another  light,  so  different  from  the  weird  lustre  that 
drunkenness  provides.  And  she  would  not  believe 
it,  dropping  one  tiny  hand  that  she  might  chafe  the 
other,  lest  death  might  get  advantage  in  the  chase. 

She  was  still  thus  engaged  when  he  arose  and 
looked  about  the  room  for  his  hat.  It  was  lying 
where  he  had  flung  it  when  he  came  in  an  eternity 
ago. 

"  Good-bye— till— till  the  judgment  day,"  he  said 
huskily,  standing  above  her,  something  of  the  wildly 
supernatural  in  the  tone.  He  waited  long— but  she 
spoke  no  word,  nor  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  dead 
face,  nor  relinquished  her  stern  struggle  with  the 
complacent  Conqueror. 


^|'| 
1 


The   /tSHES  on    The   HEARTH      ,9 

He  went  out-and  was  gone  with  steady  step. 
She  knew  .t  not.  Perhaps  it  was  about  half  an  hour 
later  when  he  returned,  opening  the  door  gently  and 
passing  her  swiftly  by.  He  did  not  pause,  d.d  not 
even  remove  his  hat-but  went  quickly  a^d  softly 
up  the  stairs.  Then  he  lighted  a  match,  shading  I 
at  first  w.th  his  hands  lest  it  should  wake  the  shut 

dereVd  J'i"'  ''  ''"'  '''  ^'^^'"^  ^'^ht  the  mur- 
derer drank  deep  of  his  children's  faces.  Then  the 
darkness  swallowed  them  up,  and  he  groped  his  way 
down-sta.rs  and  passed  out  into  the  night  ^ 

bu!' J  r  T  t'^  ^'^'"  '^'  ''  ^'''  surrendered- 
but  to  God.     And  the  fire  was  black  and  the  house 

f^ll'h  H  "^T  ^'^  ^°°  "^"^  °"''  ^>--S  ^he  door  car  ! 
fully  beh.nd  her.  She  groped  about  the  little  porch 
feehng  m  every  corner  ;  and  she  examined  the  tin^ 
veran  a.  and  searched  through  all  the  neglec  d' 
garden  she  even  noticed  the  fragrance  of  some 
•mple  flowers-they  had  planted  them  together  and 
he  children   had   helped    in  turn,  having  one    oy 

Oh,   Ned,     she   cned   softly,   passionately    her 
hands  outstretched  beneath  the  all-seeing  sta^;,  he 

yo.    d".7n-t        '"^  "'  ''''  "^^'  ^^"^-  --  b-k" 
you   d.dn      mean    to   do    it  and  you  dian't  know 

bacrtoH^'*  '''':;' ;'^  '''''  a  little  louder.  ..come 
back  to  Harvey  and  Je^sie-they'll  never  know.     Oh 

pressed  ''''CI''"''"'"''''''  ^^'"'^'^  '''''  ^^'^^'^^-^n  and' 
pressed  qu.ckly  agamst  her  bosom.     For  it  pained 

l»er-w.th  ,ts  n)other-burden-and  she  turned  to  go 


';  I 


20 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


back  to  her  baby.  Then  she  saw  its  still  face  in  the 
darkness— and  her  hands  went  out  again  towards  the 
night.  The  silent  stars  looked  dov/n,  pitying,  help- 
less ;  she  went  back  to  her  fatherless  and  her  God. 


'•:i 


II 

■THE   WINE-PRESS   ALONE 

"^  I  ^HE  woman's  name's  Simmons,  sir — an'  she 
I  took  the  whole  o'  this  half  plot.  She 
-1-  keeps  a  little  store,  mostly  sweeties,  I 
think,"  said  Hutchins,  as  he  laid  his  spade  against 
the  fence.  "  An'  there  wasn't  no  funeral— just  her 
an'  her  two  children ;  she  brought  the  little  one  here 
from  the  city— that's  where  it  was  buried  afore  she 
came  here  to  live." 

His  chief  asked  the  labourer  a  question  in.  a  low 
voice. 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  was  all  right,"  the  man  answered, 
picking  an  old  leaf  from  a  geranium  plant  as  he  "^poke. 
"  She  showed  me  the  original  certificate  sh^  got  in 
the  city— or  a  copy  of  it,  leastways  ;  it  said  the  baby 
came  to  its  death  from  a  fall  on  the  floor.  So  that 
was  all  right— I  asked  the  chairman.  I  couldn't  help 
feelin'  sorry  for  the  woman,  sir  ;  she  took  on  as  bad 
as  if  it  was  new.  An'  the  two  little  shavers  was 
playin'  hide  an'  seek  round  the  tombstones  afore  I 
got  the  little  grave  filled  in— she  seemed  to  be  ter- 
ribly alone.  It's  funny,  sir,  how  hard  it  is  to  get 
used  to  this  business— I  often  says  to  my  missus  as 
how  no  man  with  kids  of  his  own  has  any  license  to 
hire  here/' and  the  kindly  executioner  went  off,  spade 

21 


-JlfV-- 


.'!:■;./>.. 


22 


■THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


in   hand,  to   make  a   new    wound  in  the  oft-riven 
bosom  of  God's  hospitable  earth. 

The  hired  helper  had  told  about  all  that  was  known 
in  Glenallen  concerning  their  new  townswoman.    In- 
deed, rather  more;  for  comparatively  f^^y  knew  any- 
thing ol  the  little  family  gathering  that  had  stood  one 
early   morning   beside  the  tiny  grave.     The  village 
was   small-Glenallen  had  not  yet  achieved  its  f.nd 
hope  that  .t  would  outgrow  the  humiliating  state  of 
v.llagehood_and  its  inhabitants  were  correspondingly 
well  posted  ,n  the  source,  and  antecedents,  and  atter  J- 
ant   circumstances  of  all  who  came  to  dwell  among 
them.     But  almost  all  they  could  ascertain  regarding 
Mrs.  Simmons  was  that  she  had  come  from  the  city, 
hat  she  had  two  children  living_as  far  as  they  could 
learn,   their   father   was   dead-that   she   had  some 
scanty  means  with  which  Jie  nad  embarked  on  the 
humble   enterprise   that  was   to  provide   her   daily 

And  thus  far  they  were  correct  enough.     For  the 
first   darkness    of  the  great  tragedy  had  no  sooner 
overywept  her  than  she  began  to  shrink  with  an  un- 
speakable aversion  from  all  that  was  associated  w,th 
he  old  hfe  that  had  now  no  memory  but  pain.     Her 
heart  turned  with  wistful  yearning  towards  some  spot 
where  she  might  live  again  the  simple  country  life  she 
had  known  in  the  early  days  of  childhood    The  cold 
selfishness  of  the  city  chilled  her  to  the  soul.     She 
longed  for  some  quiet  country  place-such  as  (ilen- 
allen  was-where  she  might  make  a  living,  and  live 
more   cheaply;   where   her   children   might   hav^  a 


^\ 


"■^ISIim^lSSS! 


§•^^7^*^^  .j^v'!^vM^i;V,,^,.ak:"    f-':  .,t^^.^^  mii^--;- 


■The    IV/NE-PRESS   ALONE 


2-^ 


chance ;  where  the  beauty  of  God's  world  might  do 
its  share  of  heahn£[. 

She  had  known  but  few  in  the  city,  simple  folk— 
and  they  had  seemed  to  care  but  little.  Yet  they  had 
to  be  kept  in  the  dark ;  and  the  careful  story  of  her 
baby's  fall  had  been  an  often  crucifixion.  They 
thought  her  husband  had  suddenly  been  crazed  with 
grief,  hinting  sometimes  at  the  cowardice  of  his 
desertion— and  she  made  no  protest,  dissembling  with 
ingenious  love  for  his  sake  and  her  children's.  I'evv 
were  aware  when  she  left  the  city,  and  fewer  seemed 
to  care.  She  had  little  to  bring — one  sacred  treasure 
was  het  chiefest  burden— and  it  slept  now  beside  her. 
And  Harvey  and  Jessie  must  not  know  that  their 
father  was  alive—not  yet.  They  would  have  enough 
to  bear ;  and  moreover,  who  could  tell  ?  In  any  case, 
was  he  not  dead  to  them  ? 

She  never  knew  exactly  what  was  the  cause  of  it 

whether  blow  or  shock— nor  did  she  care ;  but  she 
trembled  for  her  children  as  it  became  more  and  more 
certain  that  her  eyesight  was  failing.     It  had  begun  to 
be  impaired  soo..  after  that  very  night.     Yet  she  went 
bravely  on,   clinging  to   her  little  ones,  clinging  to 
life,   clinging  to  hope— even  to  joy,  in  a  dim,  instinc- 
tive way.    And  ever,  night  and  day,  she  guarded  the 
dread  secret ;  ever,  night  and  day,  she  cherished  the 
hope  that  her  eyes  might  look  again,  if  God  should 
spare  their  light,  upon  the  face  she  had  last  seen  with 
that  awful  look  upon  it  as  it  came  nearer  and  neaior 
to  her  own.     So  her  lipj  were  set  tight,  lest  any  re- 
vealing word  should  escape  to  any  soul  on  earth. 


24 


THE   li^EB    OF    TIME 


And  It  was  not  long  till  the  curious  resulents  of 
-lenallen  felt  that  the  stranger  among  them  was  ac- 
quainted with  grief-but  of  what  sort  it  was.  the  most 
vigilant  never  knew.     Thus  did  she  tread  the  vine 
press  alone,  pressing  silently  along  the  upward  path 
of  pain.  * 

And  thus  hau  the  years  gone  by. 


■■iit^^':wi<;i«ii^ 


T4xl-kii'£t-i^^. 


c 


III 

LOIRE'S    LABOURER 

I UT  him  off  another  piece,  mother— a  bigger 
piece;  that  there  chunk  wouldn't  satisfy  a 
pigeon.  Fruit-cake  isn't  very  finin'--not 
to  a  boy,  leastways,  and  there's  nuthin'  lonelier  than 
one  piece  of  cake  inside  of  a  boy  that's  built  for  nine 
or  ten." 

Mr.  Borland's  merry  eyes  turned  first  upon  his 
wile's  face  as  he  made  his  plea,  then  wandered 
towards  a  distant  field,  resting  upon  the  diminutive 
figure  of  a  boy. 

"  Oh,  David,"  answered  his  wife,  her  tone  indicating 
a  measure  of  shock,  "you're  so  vivid  with  your  illus- 
trations. It  isn't  artistic_I  mean  about-about 
those  inside  matters,"  as  she  smiled,  rather  than 
frowned,  her  mild  reproof. 

"  That's  all  right,  mother;  it's  true  to  life,  anyhow 
—an  it  al!  :'  ,1s  with  his  inner  bcin' ;  it  tells  of  ^ui- 
fcrin  humanity,"  rejoined  her  husband.  "The 
smaller  the  boy.  the  bigger  the  hunk-thafs  a  safe 
rule  when  you're  dealin'  in  cake.  Bully  for  you 
mother-that  there  slice'U  come  nearer  fittin'  him  "' 
he  concluded  jubilantly,  as  his  wife  completed  a  piece 
of  surgery  more  generous  than  before. 

••  Who   was    it  hired    Harvey   to   pick   potatoes, 

25 


S*i' / '%.!■■.  'ikii'y'/'iteii,- 


26 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


father?"  inquired  Mrs.  Borland.  •'  How  can  he  eat 
tins  without  washing  his  hands  ?  "  she  continued,  al- 
most in  the  same  breath  ;  "  it's  such  dirty  work." 

"You  just  watch   him;  that  won't  trouble  him 
much.     Boys  love  sand.     It  was  me  that  hired  him, 
xMartha.     He  come  right  up  to  me  on  the  street  an' 
took  off  his  hat  like  I  was  an  earl :  '  Can  you  give 
me  any  work  to  do,  Mr.  Borland  ?' he  says.     'I'm 
going  to  make   enough   money  to    make  mother's 
eyes  well.'  an'   the   little   fellow  looked  so   earnest 
an'  so  manly,  I  fair  hated  to  tell  him  the  only  kind  of 
job  I  could  give  him.     I  just  hated  to.     But  I  told 
him  I  wanted  some  one  to  pick  potatoes.    An'  Harvey 
brightened  right  up.     'All  right,  Mr.  Borland,' he 
says,  <  I'll  come.     I'm  awful  fond  of  potatoes,  an'  I 
can  pick  two  at  a  time— three,  if  they're  not  too  big,' 
he  says,  an'  I  couldn't  keep  from  laughin'  to  save  mv- 
self "  ^ 

"  What's  the  matter  with  his  mother's  eyes  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Borland,  as  she  tore  the  front  page  from  the 
weekly  paper,  preparing  to  wrap  it  about  the  cake. 

"  I  didn't  like  to  ask  him.  The  little  fellow  seemed 
to  feel  real  bad  about  it— an'  I  never  did  like  to  probe 
into  things  that  hurt,"  replied  her  husband.  "  Iwen 
when  I  was  a  boy  at  school,  I  never  could  stand 
seein'  a  fellow  show  where  he  stubbed  his  toe,"  con- 
tinued the  homely  philosopher,  reaching  out  his  hand 
for  the  little  parcel.  "  There  was  one  thing  about  the 
boy  that  took  me  wonderful,"  he  went  on  ;  "  I  asked 
him  would  he  work  by  the  day  or  by  the  bushel,  an' 
he  said  right  quick  as  how  he'd  do  it  by  the  bushel— 


>^is-m"^>m*^  '""m^-m^^'m. 


LOyE'S   LABOURER  ^-j 

I  always  like  those  fellows  best  that  prefers  to  work 
by  the  ,ob.  Hello,  there,  old  sport/'  he  sudden  y 
digressed  as  a  noise  from  behind  attracted  him  '■  an^ 
where  did  you  eome  from?  You're  always  t'urnin' 
up  at  cake  time.  I  thought  you  were  goin'  to  nde 
to  Branchton."  glancing  as  he  spoke  at  the  ridn^! 
whip  the  girl  held  in  her  hand.  ^ 

o^vn,  that  sparkled  upward  towards  her  father's  face 
The  wild  sweet  breath  of  happy  girlhood  came  pant- 
ing from  her  hps.  half  breathless  with  eager  haste  • 
whde  the  golden  hair,  contrasting  well  w.th  the  rosy' 
t.de  that  suffused  her  cheek,  and  falhng  dishevelled 
on  her  shoulders,  and  the  very  aroma  of  health  and 
V.  ahty  that  distilled  from  her  whole  form,  tall  7l 
l.the  and  graceful  as  it  was.  might  amply  justify  the 
pride  that  marked  her  father's  gaze. 

"  ^°  }  y^s,"  the  chiming  voice  rejoined.     <'  But  I 
turned  back.     I  despise  a  coward."     The  eves  Hasher 
as  shespok.     .<  And  Cecil  Craig's  on^^.t 
one.    she  elaborated  warmly.     «  We  met  a  threshing 
engine  half-u.yout-and  of  course  I  was  going  to 
ndepastit     Buthe  wouldn't-he  got  off  and  tied'his 
horse  to  a  tree.     And  it  broke  the  lines  and  got  away 
I  was  so  glad     and  I  rode  on.  and  Doctor  threw  me^' 
ubbing  her   knee  sympathetically   as    she    spoke- 
•thats   what   made   me  so  glaJ  h.s  own  horse  got' 
away,    she  affirmed  savagely.  «  and  the  two  en4e 
men  stopped  and  caught  Doctor  for  me  and  I  got  on 
b-m  agam-astride  this  time-and  I  mad.  hint  walk 
right  up  and  smell  the  engine ;  and  Cecil  had  lu  walk 


28 


THE    IVEB    Of-     TIME 


home.  The  men  told  him  to  touch  himself  up  with 
his  whip  and  it  wouldn't  lake  him  long—and  that 
made  him  awful  mad.  You  see,  they  knew  he  was  a 
coward.  Who's  that  fruit-cake  for?"  she  inquired 
suddenly,  flinging  her  gloves  vigorously  towards  the 
hat-stand.  "  I'll  just  try  a  piece  myself-fruit-cakc's 
good  for  a  sore  knee,"  and  she  attacked  it  with  the 
dexterity  that  marks  the  opening  teens. 

"  It's  for  a  little  boy  that's  wor^in'  in  the  field— 
httle  Harvey  Simmons.  He's  pickin'  potatoes,  an'  I 
thought  a  little  refreshment  wouldn't  hurt  him,"  her 
father  answered,  pointing  fieldward  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  know  him,"  the  maiden  mumbled,  her  mouth 
full  of  the  chosen  remedy  ;  "  he  goes  to  school— and 
he  always  spells  everybody  down,"  she  added  as  en- 
thusiastically as  the  aforesaid  treatment  would  per- 
mit. "  Let  me  take  it  out  to  him,  father,"  the  utter- 
ance Clearing  somewhat. 

The  father  was  already  handing  her  the  dainty  par- 
cel when  her  mother  intervened.  «  No,  Madeline,  it's 
not  necessary  for  you  to  take  it.  It's  hardly  the  cor- 
rect thing,  child;  I'll  call  Julia— she  can  take  it  out." 
"  '  Tisn't  necessary,  mother,"  quoted  her  husband. 
"  I  want  this  here  cake  to  mean  something.  I'll  just 
take  it  myself,"  and  in  a  moment  he  was  striding  en- 
ergetically across  the  intervening  paddock,  the  untir- 
ing form  of  the  little  labourer  alternately  rising  and 
falling  as  he  plied  his  laborious  toil. 

"  Your  father  is  the  best-hearted  man  in  the 
county,  Madeline,"  Mrs.  Borland  ventured  when  her 
husband  was  out  of  hearing. 


LOIRE'S    LABOURER  29 

"  He's  the  best  man  in  the  world,"  the  girl 
amended  fervently;  "and  Cecil  say^  his  father's  a 
member  of  the  Church  and  mine  isn't,"  she  went  on 
more  vehemently  ;  "  he  said  father  didn't  believe  the 
right  things—and  I  just  told  him  they  weren't  the 
right  things  if  my  father  didn't  believe  them,  and  I 
wouldn't  believe  them  either,"  the  youthful  heretic 
affirmed.  "  Lally  Kerr  told  me  Cecil's  father  made 
soriie  poor  people  give  him  money  for  rent  that  they 
needed  for  a  stove— I  didn't  want  to  tell  Cecil  that, 
but  when  he  said  his  father  believed  all  the  right 
things  I  told  him  my  father  did  all  the  good  things, 
and  he  was  kind  to  the  poor— and  I  told  him  he  was 
kind  to  them  because  he  was  poor  once  himself  and 

used  to  work  so  hard  with  his  hands,  and " 

"  Why,  child,"  and  the  mother  frowned  u  little, 
"where  did  you  get  that  idea?  Who  told  you' 
that  ?  " 

"Father  told  me,"  replied  the  child  promptly. 
"  He  told  me  himself,  and  I  think  I  heard  him  tell- 
ing Cecil's  father  that  once  too— Cecil's  father 
wanted  not  to  give  so  much  money  to  the  men  that 
worked  for  him.  I  think  they  were  talking  about 
that,  and  that  was  when  father  said  it,"  the  uncon- 
scious face  looking  proudly  up  into  her  mother's. 

"You  don't  need  to  spea!:  about  it,  dear;  it 
doesn't  sound  well  to  be— to  be  boasting  about  your 
father,  you  know.  Now  run  away  and  get  ready  for 
lunch ;  father  '11  be  back  in  a  minute." 

The  child  turned  to  go  upstairs,  singing  as  she 
went,    forgetful  of  the    mild  debate   and    blissfully 


io 


THE    WEB    OF   TIME 


I 


Ignorant  of  all  the  human  tumult  that  lay  behind  it 
conscous  only  of  a  vague  happiness  at  thought  of 
the  great  heart  whose  cause  she  had  championed  in 

Z^^:f  '"''■  /T  °^  contented  joy  wL  on  th^ 
mothers  face  as  she  looked  with  half  exultant  eyes 

thTh  d'h  ^'"^  ''r'  '^"^'  ^^"p^"^^  «f  *'-'  --^th 

mat  had  been  so  welcome  though  so  late 

Prompted  by  the  conversation  with  Madeline,  her 
mmd  roamed  swiftly  over  the  bygone  years  •    the 
pnvat.ons    of  her  early   marned   ik,  the   grow  ng 
comfort    that    her  husband's  toil  had  brought    the 
trembhng  venture  into  the  world  of  manufacture'  the 
cnsu.ng  struggle,  the  impending  failure,  the  turning 
tide,  the  abunaant  flow  that  followed-and  all  the 
fairy-land  into  which   increasing  wealth  had  borne 
^ler      Of  all  this  she  thought  as  she  stood  amid  the 
spo,ls_and  of  the  altered  ways  and  loftier  friends, 
of  the  whirl  and  charm  of  fashion,  of  the  bewilder- 
ing entrance  into  such  circles  of  society  as  their  little 
town  afforded,  long  envied  f   ,m  afar,  now  pouring 
tier   wme    and    oil   into   st.ll    unhealing   wounds 
iJ.mly,  too,  it  was  borne  in  upon  her  that  her  hus- 
band s  heart,  lagging  behind  her  own.  had  been  con- 
tent  to   tarry   among   the   simple   realities   of   old 
unspoiled  by  the  tardy  success  that  had  brought  with 
It  no  sense  of  shame  for  the  humble  days  of  yore 

K^diyt^r-^^^^^^^^ 

Her  husband,  in  the  meantime,  had  arrived  at  the 
s  cle  of  his  youthful  employee,  his  pace  quickening 
as  he  came  nearer  to  the  lad,  the  corners   of  his 


LOIRE'S   LAROURER  3, 

mouth  rclaxin-  in  a  sort  of  unconscious  smile  that 
bcsijok-c  the  pleasure  the  errand  gave  him.  Ab- 
sorbed  in  his  work,  and  Iiearing  only  the  rattle  of  the 
potatoes  us  they  fell  steadily  into  the  pail  beside 
hirn,  the  boy  had  not  caught  the  approaching  foot- 
falls ;  he  gave  a  little  jump  as  Mr.  Borland  called 
him  by  his  name. 

"  Here's  a  little  something  for  you,  my  boy—the 
missus  sent  it  out." 

Harvey  straightened  himsei;  up.  clapped  his 
hands  together  to  shake  the  dust  from  them,  and 
gravely  thanked  his  employer  as  he  received  the 
httle  package.  Slowly  unwrapping  it.  his  eye 
brightened  as  it  fell  on  a  sight  so  unfamiliar;  in  an 
mstant  one  of  the  slices  was  at  his  lips,  a  gaping 
wound  in  evidence  as  it  was  withdrawn.  A  moment 
later  tb-  boy  ceased  chewing,  then  slowly  resumed 
the  operation ;  but  now  the  paper  was  refolded  c  -r 
the  remaining  cake,  and  Harvey  gently  stowed  it 
away  in  the  pocket  of  his  blouse. 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  Mr.  Borland 
anxiously.  «  Aren't  you  well_or  isn't  it  good  ?  " 
The  boy  smiled  his  answer  ;  other  reply  was  un- 
necessary and  inadequate. 

"Coin'  to  take  it  home?"  the  man  asked 
curiously. 

"  No,  sir.  I'm  just  going  to  keep  it  a  little  while." 
the  youngster  replied,  looking  manfully  upward  as  he 
•spoke,  a  httle  gulp  bespeaking  the  final  doom  of  the 
morsel  he  had  taken.  "You  don't  mind,  sir?"  he 
added  respectfully. 


I 


-k^t^m^'^ 


•■^^: 


)2 


THE   PVEB    OF    TIME 


"Me  mind!  What  would  I  mind  for?  You're 
qmte  nght,  my  boy-it's  a  mighty  good  thing  uhen 
a  fellow  finds  out  as  young  as  you  are  that  he  can't 
eat  his  cake  and  have  .t  too ;  it  takes  most  of  us  a 
lifetime  to  learn  that.  Hon-  old  are  you,  Harvey- 
isn  t  that  your  name  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I'm  most  fourteen,"  the  boy  answered, 
stooping  again  to  resume  his  work. 

"Do  you  go  to  school?"  the  man  inquired  pres- 
ently. ^ 

"  Mostly  in  the  winter,  sir;  not  very  much  in  the 
summer.  But  I  do  all  I  can.  You  see,  I  have  to 
help  my  mother  in  the  store  when  she  needs  me. 
liut  I  m  going  to  try  the  entrance  next  summer,"  he 
added  quickly,  the  light  of  ambition  on  his  face. 

"  Where  is  your  mother's  store  ?  "  asked  Mr  Bor- 
land. 

■;  Ifs  that  little  store  on  George  Street,  next  to  the 
Chinese  laundry.     It  has  a  red  door-and  there's  a 
candy  monkey  in  the  window."  he  hastened  to  add 
this    last    identification    proffered    with    much  en-' 
thusiasm. 

A  considerable  silence  followed,  broken  only  by 
the  rattling  potatoes  as  they  fell.  "Mr.  Borland, 
could  you  give  me  work  in  your  factory  ?  "  the  boy 
inquired  suddenly,  not  pausing  for  an  instant  in  his 
work. 

"In  the  factory!"  echoed  Mr.  Borland.  "I 
thought  you  were  going  to  school." 

"I  could  work  after  four,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  1  here's  two  hours  left." 


LOIRE'S   LABOURER  33 

Air.  Borlan  crazed  th.. -htu.lly  for  a  moment 
"  Twouldn't  1.  ,n.  you  niK  ,u  time  to  play,"  he  said 
smiling  down  1 1  i  i^rv.."/.  ' 

"  I  don't  need  an  awf.l  lot  of  play."  the  boy  re- 
turned gravely ;  <•  I  never  got  very  much  used  to  it 
Besides,  I've  got  a  lot  of  games  when  I'm  delivering 
little  parcels  for  mother-games  that  I  made  up  my- 
self. Sometimes  I  play  I'm  going  round  calling  sol- 
diers out  because  th-re's  going  to  be  a  war_and 
sometimes  I  play  I'm  Death,"  he  added  solemnly 

"Play  you're  Death ! "  cried  the  startled  man. 
"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  that?  I  thou-ht 
no  one  ever  played  that  game  but  once,"  he  con- 
cluded, as  much  to  himself  as  to  the  boy. 

"  Oh,  it's  this  way,  you  see— it's  one  of  the  head- 
lines in  the  copy-book  that  pale  Death  knocks  with 
--uith-impartial  steps  at  the  big  houses  and  the  lit- 
tle cottages-something  like  that,  anyhow.  And  it's 
a  good  deal  the  sanie  with  me."  the  boy  responded 
gravely,  looking  up  a  moment  as  he  spoke  '•  It's  a 
real  interesting  game  when  you  understand  it  Of 
course  I'm  not  very  pale,"  he  continued  slowly,  "  but 
I  can  feel  pretty  pale  when  I  want  to,"  he  concluded 
smiling  at  the  fancy. 

Mr.  Borland  was  decidedly  interested.  And  wc'I 
ho  might  have  been.  For  there  was  just  en.u.Ii  of 
the  same  my.-tic  f,re  in  his  own  heart,  untulored 
though  It  was,  to  reveal  to  him  the  beaut-  that 
glowed  upon  the  boyish  lace  before  him.  The  lad 
was  tall  for  his  years.  well-form..><l,  hthc  n-i^c-'ai  ■ 
dishevelled  by  his  stooping  toil,  a  wealth  of  nut-brown 


i 


:^^^ 


34 


THE    IVEB    OF   7IME 


hair  fell  over  an  ample  forehead,  almost  overshading 
the  large  blue  eyes  that  were  filled  with  the  peculiar 
shining  light  which  portrays  the  poetic  mind.     His 
features  were  large,  not  marked  by  any  particular  re- 
finement, significant  rather  of  the  necessity—yet  also 
of  the  capacity—for  moral  struggle;  distended  nostrils, 
markmg  fullness  of  Hfe  and  passion,  sensitive  to  the 
varymg  emotions  that  showed  first  in  the  wonderful 
eyes;  a  deep  furrow  ran  fron.  .  .,se  to  hps,  the  latter 
large  and  full  of  rich   red  blood,  but  finely  formed, 
curving  away  to  delicate   expression  at  either  side,' 
signihcant  of  a   nature   keenly  alive  to  all  that  life 
might  have  to  give— such  lips  as  eloquence  requires 
yet  fitted  ^vell  together,  expressive  of  an  inner  spirit 
capable  of  the  firmness  it  might  sorely  need. 

"  Could  you  drive  a  horse,  lad  ?  "  the  man  suddenly 
mquired,  after  a  long  survey  >  i  the  unconscious 
youth. 

Harvey  hesitated.  "  I  think  I  could,  sir,  if  the 
horse  was  willing.  Sometimes  we  play  horse  at 
school,  and  I  get  along  pretty  well." 

Mr.  Borland  looked  keenly,  but  in  vain,  for  any 
trace  of  merriment  on  the  half-hidden  face.  "I 
drove  the  butcher  boy's  horse  once  or  twice,  too. 
And  I  managed  all  right,  except  when  it  backed 
up— I  hate  to  drive  them  when  they're  backing  up," 
the  boy  added  seriously,  with  the  air  of  an  experi- 
enced horseman. 

Mr.  Borland  laughed.  •'  That's  jest  wliere  it  comes 
in. '  he  saul ;  "  any  one  can  drive  anything  when  it's 
goin'  ahead-it's  when  things  is  goin'  back  that  tries 


LOIRE'S   LABOURER  35 

your  mettle.  I'll  see  what  I  can  do.  Some  of  our 
horses  drives  frontwards-horses  is  pretty  evenly 
divided  between  the  kind  that  goes  frontwards  and 
them  that  won't,"  he  mused  aloud  as  he  walked 
auay.  ..  iVe  struck  a  heap  of  the  last  kind-thev 
backed  up  pretty  hard  when  I  was  your  age'' 
Harvey  could  just  overhear  as  he  plucked  the  dead 
vines  from  another  mound  and  outthrew  its  lurkinL^ 
treasures.  ^ 


:  *'••*'■  --^i. 


14  J. 


IV 


hi 
IM 


THE  RICHES   OF   THE  POOR 

THE  retreating  figure  had  no  sooner  gained 
the   house   in   the   distance   than    Harvey 
began  to  cast  glances,  eager  and  expectant, 
towards  the  road  that  skirted  the  outer  edge  of  the 
field  in  which  he  was  working.     Once  or  twice  he 
straightened  up,  wincing  a  little  with  the  ache  that 
long  stooping   brings,  and   peered   intently  towards 
the  top  of  a  distant  hill  b  yond  which  he  could  not 
see.     Suddenly  his    eye    orightened,  and  a  muffied 
exclamation  of  pleasure  broke  from  his  lips,  for  the 
vision  he  longed  for  had  appeared.     Yet  it  was  com- 
monplace enough—only  a  coloured  sunbonnet,  some 
four  or  five  feet  from  the  ground,  and  swaying  a  little 
uncertainly  in  the  noontide  light.     But  it  was  mov- 
ing   nearer,  ever    nearer,  to   the  waiting    boy,  who 
knew  the   love  that   lent  strength  to  the  little  feet 
and  girded  the  tiny  hands  which  bore  something  for 
himself. 

The  girlish  form  was  now  well  beyond  the  curv- 
ing hill,  trudging  bravely  on  ;  and  Harvey  saw.  or 
thought  he  saw,  the  happy  smile  upon  the  eager 
face,  the  pace  quickening  as  she  caught  sight  of  her 
brother  in  the  distance.  Harvey's  eyes  filled  with 
tenderness  as  he  gazed  upon  the  apuroachinrr  child- 

36 


The    R/CHES   of    -J he    POOR         37 

for  the  poor,  if  they  love  and  are  loved  again,  know 
more  of  life's  real  wealth  than  the  deluded  rich. 

A  few  minutes  more  and  siic  ^\:''^  at  tiie  bars 
pantinrr  but  radiant.     Harvey  ran  to  lay  them  down, 
taking  the  bundles  from  her  hands.     "  Oh,  but  my 
arms  ache  so,"  the  girl  said,  as  she  sank  upon  the 
grass  ;  "  it  must  be  lovely  to  have  a  horse." 

"  Some  day  we  will,"  her  brother  returned  abruptly. 
"  You  just  wait  and  see— and  then  you  won't  ever 
walk  anywhere.  But  you  oughtn't  to  carry  these  all 
this  way,  Jessie ;  I  could  bring  it  in  my  pocket  iusf 
as  well."  ^ 

The  gill's  face  clouded  a  little.  "  But  then  it  gets 
so  cold,  Harvey— and  what's  in  there  oi.ght  to  be 
nice  and  warm,"  she  said  hopefully,  nodding  to-.-ards 
the  pail.  "  Mother  heated  the  can  just  when  we  put 
It  in,  and  I  came  as  fast  as  ever  I  could,  so  it 
wouldn't  cool— and  I  held  it  in  the  hot  sun  all  the 
tmie,"  she  concluded  triumphantly,  proud  of  her 
ingenuity. 

"That's  lovely,  Jessie,"  replied  the  boy;  "and 
you're  quite  right,"  he  went  on,  noticing  the  flitting 
sign  of  disappointment.  "  I  just  hate  cold  things— 
and  I  just  love  them  hot,"  he  affirmed  as  he  removed 
the  hd. 

Jessie  bended  eagerly  over  it  and  the  faint  steam 
that  arose  was  as  beautiful  to  her  eyes  as  was  ever 
ascending  incense  to  priestly  ministrant. 

"  It's  hot.  Harvey !  I  thought  it  would  be."  she 
cried.  "  Mother  was  so  anxious  for  you  to  have  a 
nice  dinner—I  knew  that  was  what  you  liked,"  as  an 


38 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


I'l 


exclamation  of  delight  came  from  the  boy.  «  Mother 
i^aid  she  never  saw  such  a  boy  for  meat-pies  as  you 
And  there's  something  further  dow.i,  that  you  like 
tuo-they're  under  a  saucer,  and  they  have  butter 
and  sugar  both,  on  them.  No,  you'd  never  guess 
what  It  is— oh,  that's  not  fair/'  she  cried,  "  you're 
smelhng;  any  one  can  guess  what  it  is  if  they  smell  " 
laughing  merrily  as  she  tried  to  withdraw  the  pail 
beyond  the  range  of  his  olfactory  powers. 

"  It's  pancakes  !  "  pronounced  her  brother,  sniffincr 
still.  ^ 

"Yes,  of  course-but  you  never  would  have 
guessed.  Mother  made  them  the  very  last  thing 
before  I  started.  And  I  cried  when  she  was  putting 
them  in— oh,  Harvey,  it  was  so  sad,"  the  girl  burst 
out  with  trembling  voice,  her  hands  going  to  her 
face  as  she  spoke.  "  And  mother  cried  too  "  she 
added,  looking  out  at  her  brother  through  swimming 
eyes.  ** 

Harvey  halted  in  his  attack.  "  What  for  ?  What 
were  you  cr)-ing  about  ?  "  he  asked  earnestly,  the  food 
•still  untasted. 

"  It  was  about  mother's  eyes.  You  sec,  she  put 
the  pancakes  on  the  table  beside  the  stovc-and 
there  was  a  pile  of  table  mats  beside  them.  Well 
when  mother  went  to  put  them  into  the  pail  she' 
t^)ok  up  the  mats  instead-nevcr  knew  the  difference 
l.ll  she  felt  them.  And  I  could  see  how  .sad  it  made 
her—she  said  she  was  afraid  she  soon  wouldn't  see 
at  all ;  and  I  just  couldn't  keep  from  crjing.  (J)h, 
Harvey,"  the  shaking  voice  went  eagerly  on,''"  don't 


The   RICHES  of    The   POOR         39 

you  think  we'll  soon  be  able  to  send  her  to  the  city 
to  see  the  doctor  there  ?— everybody  says  he  could 
cure  the  right  eye  anyhow ;  mother  thinks  the  left 
one's  gone.     Don't  you  think  we  will,  Harvey  ?  " 

Harvey  looked  into  space,  a  large  slice  of  the 
tempting  pie  still  in  his  hand.  <«  I'm  hoping  so,"  he 
said — "  I  made  almost  thirty  cents  this  morning ;  I 
counted  it  up  just  before  you  came— and  there's  the 
two  dollars  I  made  picking  raspberries  that  motlicr 
doesn't  know  about— it's  in  that  knot-hole  in  the 
closet  upstairs,  you  know.  And  maybe  Mr.  Bor- 
land's going  to  give  me  more  work— I  asked  him, 
and  then " 

"  I  told  mother  I  'vas  going  to  sell  Muffy,"  his 
sister  broke  in  impulsively.  "Rut  she  said  I 
mustn't ;  I  guess  she's  awful  fond  of  Muffy,  she  cried 
so  hard." 

"  I'd  hate  to  sell  Muffy,"  the  boy  responded  judi- 
cially ;'<  she's  the  only  one  that  always  lays  big  eggs. 
And  then,  besides,  they  might  kill  her  and  eatTer 
up— rich  people  nearly  always  do  their  hens  that 
u-ay."  Two  pairs  of  eyes  darkened  at  thought  of  a 
tragedy  so  dread. 

"  VVe  wouldn't,  even  if  we  was  rich,  would  we,  Har- 
vey ?  "  the  girl  resumed  earnestly. 

•*No.  not  with  Muffy,"  Harvey  assured  her. 
"Th--.  re  awful  rich  over  there,"  he  volunteered, 
pointing  to  the  large  stone  house  in  the  distance. 

"  It  must  be  lovely,"  mused  the  girl.  "  We  could 
have  such  lots  of  lovely  things.  Why  don't  you  eat 
your  dinner,  Harvey  ?— it'll  get  so  cold." 


;-f*.i  .^-i* 


40 


THE    U/EB    OF    TIME 


sec'  ^  t'T''^"'  ''  """"'''"  '■'P'"'"  ^^^'•-  ^'•"^^^-^-     "  You 

The  loving  eyes,  still  moist,  gazed  into  his  own 
bhe  u-as  so  young  some  years  younger  than  he.  and 
a.  inexperienced  almost  as  a  ehild  could  be  ;  yet  the 
St  rn  tu.t,on  of  poverty  and  sorrow  had  given'som  ! 
thing  of  v,s,on  to  the  eyes  that  looked  so  wistfully 
out  upon  the  plaintive  face  before  her.     She  no  ed 

t  at  .tood  so   sorely  m  need  of  impossible  repairs 
he   gnmy  stams  of  toil  from  head  to  foot,  the  fur-' 
owed  c  annels  that  tl.e  flowing  perspiration'  had  left 

seemed     .  ."'  '  ^"^'  ^"^  "^>'^^---  P'ty 

seemed  to  possess  her.     She  felt,  dimly  enough   yet 

h:  dlv  ha^  T'  ^^  '''''''  ''^'  ^-'b-ther  hid 
hardly  had  a  chance  in  life's  unequal  struggle      His 

tenderness,  his  unselfishness,  his  courage.  alUhese  she 

recogn.ed.  though  she  could  not  I.L  called  them 

by  the.r  names.     She  knew  how  ardently  he  longed 

h  s  to  iV^  the  dust-covered  pile  in  the  distance  that 
h  s  tod  had  gathered,  then  back  at  the  tired  figure  on 
the  grass,  allstamed  and  spotted,  the  food  he  so  much 

more^  thaTtr^'  '"  '''^  '''''''''  ^^^  ^^'^  --^  -^ 
more   that  there  was  only  one  hero  in  the  world 

"mTh     f  K  '"'  ""--^--d  he  might  be.  ' 

'  Mother  I    be  so  disappointed,"  the  girl  pleaded 

f you  don't  eat  it.  Harvey;  she  tried  so  hard  to 

make  .t  mce.    Besides.  I'll  just  have  to  carry  it  bick  " 

she  suddenly  urged,  a  note  of  triumphanVexpect 


fl^'^fiK^M  ^-  ^7  .■'■•""--^wriRf -: 


w.  '■^:^^im% 


The   RICHES  of   The    POOR        4, 

tion   in  her  voice  ;  "  and  it  was  real  heavy,  too.-  well 
pleased  with  the  culminating  argument. 

The  boy  hesitated,  then  slowly  raised  the  tempt- 
ing morsel  to  his  hps.     ••  I  didn't  have  such  an  awful 
lot  of  breakfast,'-  he  conceded  ;  "  I  really  am  pretty 
hungry—and  it  wa->  so  good  of  you  to  fetch  it  to  me 
sister."  his  gaze  resting  affectionately  on  her. 

A  long  silence  ensued.  Jessie  watching  delightedly 
as  the  little  repast  was  disposed  of.  entertaining  her 
brother  the  while  with  a  constant  stream  of  talk,  all 
fed    from   the  fountain-head  of  their  own  little  circle 
their  own  humble  and  struggling  life.     Bui  however 
far  afield  her  speech,   with  her  thought,  might  wan- 
der. ,t   kept  constantly   returning  to  the  one  central 
figure  of  their   lonely  lives,  to  her  from  whom  their 
own    lives  had  sprung  ;   and  the   most  unobservant 
hstener   would  soon  have  known  that  the  unselfish 
tenderness,  the   loving  courage,  of  the  mother-heart 
that  had  warmed  and  sheltered  their  defenseless  lives 
was  reaping  now  its  great  and  rich  reward 

Jessie  had  revei .  d  again  to  the  dark  shadow  that 
overhung  them  both,  their  mother's  failing  eyesight- 
and  two  earnest  little  faces  looked  very  soberly  one 
into  the  other,  as  though  they  must  together  beat 
back  the  enemy  from  the  gate. 

Suddenly  Harvey  broke  the  silence.  "  I'm  pretty 
sure  she's  going  to  get  well,"  he  said  earnestly,  hold- 
ing the  bottle  in  one  hand  and  the  glass  stopper  in 
the  other.  <■  I  had  a  dream  last  night  that-that 
comforted  me  a  lot,"  he  went  on.  slightly  embarrassed 
by  the  fanciful  nature  of  his  argument ;  he  could  see 


"  '3 
•  if 


42 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


tliat  Jessie  had  hoped  for  something  better  «<  I 
dreamed  I  was  walking  .ome  place  on  a  country 
road.  And  it  was  all  dark-ior  mother,  at  least-it 
was  awful  dark,  and  I  was  leading  her  by  the  hand. 
1  thought  there  was  something  troubling  her  that 
you  didn't  know  about-nor  mc-nobody,  only 
mother  Well,  just  when  we  were  groping  round  in 
the  dark,  a  great  big  black  cloud  broke  up  into  little 
bits,  and  the  sun  came  out  beautiful— just  like— I'ke 
It    is   nou','-  he  described,   glancing  towards  the  orb 


was 


only    in    my 


above     them.     ••  Of  course,    that    ,    .,.    .„^ 

dream-but  we  went  straight  on  after  that  and 
mother  could  see  to  walk  just  as  well  as  me."  he  con- 
cluaed.  smiling  ps  hopefully  as  if  dreams  were  the 
only  realities  o'"  h'  . 

Jessie,  holding  her  sunbonnet  by  both  strings  and 
swinging  It  gently  to  and  fro.  had  a  curious  look  of 
interest,  not  unmixed  with  doubt,  upon  her  childish 
face.  "  That  was  real  nice.  Harvey."  she  said  slowly 
at  length.  "  but  I  don't  just  understand.  You  see 
people  always  dream  their  dreams  at  night—and  the' 
sun  couldn't  come  out  at  night ;  anyhow  it  never 
does." 

Harvey  gazed  indulgently.  ■<  It  can  do  anythinn- 
when  you're  dreaming."  he  said  quicklv,  a  far-off 
look  in  his  thoughtful  eyes.  «•  That's  when  all  the 
wonderful  things  happen."  he  went  on.  still  looking 
absently  across  the  fields.  <■  Poor  folks  have  just  as 
good  a  time  as  rich  folks,  when  they're  asleep,"  he 
concluded,  his  voice  scarcely  audible. 

"  But  they  know  the  difference  when  they  wake 


viig^vci .'    -vii*  ■■v«   TiJir. '<£'.'. •  ».i'm»^ fsvsA^jr. 


The    RICHES   of    Jhe    POOR         43 

up,"  retorted  his  si.-,ter,  plucldng  a  clover  leaf  ea-criy. 
••  Only  three  leaves  !  "  she  exclaimed  contemptuously, 
tossing  It  aside.  "  Yes.  it's  very  different  when  U»ey 
wake  up— and  ev^M-ybody's  awake  more  than  they're 
asleep,"  she  affirmed,  as  confident  in  her  philosophy 
as  he  in  his. 

Her  brother  said  nothing  as  he  proceeded  to  fold 
up  the  rather  generous  remains  of  his  dinner ;  poor 
laddie,  he  knew  the  taste  of  bread  eaten  with  tears, 
even  if  he  had  never  heard  the  phrase.  His  face 
brightened  a  little  as  his  hand  went  out  to  the  pocket 
of  his  blouse,  extracting  a  parcel  wrapped  in  paper. 
He  held  it  with  both  hands  behind  his  back,  uncov- 
ering it  the  while. 

"  Shut  your  eyes,  Jessie— and  open  your  mouth," 
he  directed,  as  enthusiastically  as  though  the  formula 
were  being  tested  for  the  first  and  only  time. 

Jessie  obeyed  with  a  confidence  born  of  long  ex- 
rience,  and  her  brother,  all  care  vanished  meanwhile 
from  his  face,  held  the  plum-cake  to  her  lips.    «•  Now, 
bite,"  he  said.     Jessie,  already  faintly  tasting,  made  a 
slight  incision.    "  Oh,  Jessie,  bite  bigger— bite  bigger, 
Jessie  !  "  he  cried  in  disma>- ;  -  you're  juct  trying  how 
httle  you  can  take— and  I  kept  it  for  you."     Hut  Jes- 
sie's eyes  were  wide  open  now,  fixed  on  the  unwonted 
luxury.     "Too  much    isn't   good  for  little  girls,"  she 
said  quaintly,  swallowing  eagerly,  nevertheless;   ''I'll 
eat    one    piece    if   you'll  cat  the  other,  Harvey,"  she 
said,  noticing  the  double  portion. 

"  I'm    keeping   mine    for   mother."  said   the   boy 
resolutely. 


^^^^^m, 


M^;^. 


44 


iHE    IV EB    OF    TIME 


"  So'm  I,"  the  other  exclaimed  before  his  words 
were  out.  .•  I'd  sooner  have  the  pancakes,  anyhou  " 
she  added,  fearing  his  prot-st.  "  Will  you  take  it  to 
her,  Harvey— or  me  ?  " 

'•  I  think  you'd  better."  replied  her  brother.  "  and 
I  11  eat  the  rest  of  the  dinner  ,f  you'll  promise  to  eat 
your  part  of  the  cake  when  you  get  home." 

Jessie  nodded  her  consent,  and  a  feu-  minutes  saw 
Harvey's  portion  of  the  contract  nobly  executed,  h.s 
sister  as  satisfied  as  he. 


[>' 


A,i  x-M;- 


M'tfliA 


'^^'Jttff- 


V 
^    FLOIV   OF   SOUL 

GOOD  Dr.  Fletcher  always  said  a  little 
longer  grace  than  usual  when  he  dined  at 
Mr.  Craig's.  Wiicther  this  was  due  to  the 
length  of  the  ensuing  meal,  or  to  the  long  intervals 
that  separated  these  great  occasions,  or  to  the  wealth 
that  provided  them,  or  to  the  special  heart-needs  of 
the  wealthy,  it  were  difficult  to  say.  But  one  thing 
is  beyond  all  doubt,  and  that  is  that  the  good  minis- 
ter of  the  Glenallen  Presbyterian  Church  would  no 
more  have  thought  of  using  an  old  grace  at  Mrs. 
Craig's  table  than  she  herself  would  have  dreamed  of 
serving  the  same  kind  of  soup,  or  repeating  a  de>sert 
whose  predecessor  was  within  the  call  of  memory. 

On    this  particular   evening    Dr.    Fletcher's   invo- 
cation had  been  particularly  long,  due  perhaps  to  the 
aroma,    more    than    usually  significant,  that  had  es- 
caped the  kitchen  to  assure  the  sanguine  guests  ;  and 
a  sort  of  muffled  amen  broke  from  their  waiting'lips, 
soon  to  confirm  the  word    by  all  sincerity  of  action.' 
This  amen  was  doubtless  due  in  part  to  gratitude  for 
what  had  ended,  as  well  as  to  anticipation  of  what  was 
about  to   DC  begun.     Cecil  Craig,  seated  be^de  his 
mother,  tool:  no  part  in  the  terminal  devotion;  long 
before  the  time  to  utter  it.  his  open  eyes  were  turned 

45 


I 


46 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


towards  the  door  throu-h  wliich  the  servants  were  to 
enter,  and  from  which,  so  far  as  he  could  reckon  all 
blessings  flow.  ' 

Soup  came  first,  and  young  Craig  dauntlessly  led 
on    .a    the    attack.     His     mother    tried   eagerly  to 
call    to    h,s    attention,  and  to  his  alone,  that  he  had 
seized  the  spoon  meant  for  his  .Icssert;  bat  Cecil  was 
already  in  full  cry.  the  mistaken  weapon  plying  like  a 
paddle-wheel  between  his  plate  and  his  mouth-and 
no  signal  of  distress  could  reach  him.     The  most  un- 
fortunate  feature   of  it  all.  however,  was  the  speed)- 
plight   ,.f  one   or  tuo  timorous  guests,,  who.  waiting 
■or  the  lead  of  any  members  of  the  family,  had  fol- 
owed  Cecl's;  and.  suddenly  detecting  whitlier  he  had 
led    them,    were   soon    Houndering  sadlv  in  such    a 
s  ough  of  despond  as  they  scarce  escaped  from  durinir 
the  entire  meal. 

Ml",  and   Mrs.  Borland  were  there,  one  on  either 
side  of  Dr.    I-letchcr;    and   the   light   of  temporarv 
peace  was  jpon  Mrs.  Borland's  brou_for  the  Craigs* 
home    was    nearer   to    a  mansion  tlian  any  other  m 
Glenallen.     A    slight    shade    of    impatience    flitted 
across  her  face  as  she  glanced  athwart  Dr.  Jqetcicr's 
portly  form,  surveying  her  husband's  bosom  swathed 
m  snowy  white,  his  napkin  securely  tucked  beneath 
Ins  chin.     But  David  was  all  unconscious,  the  region 
beneath  the  napkin  being  exceeding  comfortable"  for 
the  soup  was  good,  and  her  spouse  bade  fair  to  give 
Cecil  a  stern  chase  for  the  honours  of  the  finish. 

Soup   is   a   mighty  lubricant  of  the  inward  parts  • 
wherefore  there  broke  out,  when  the  first  course  was 


A    FLOW   of  SOUL  47 

run.   a   very  freshet   of  conversation;  and  the  most 
conspicuous  figure  in  the  flow  was  that  of  Mr.  Crairr 
He  had  the  advantage,  of  course,  of  an  erect  position* 
for  he  liad   risen  to   inaugurate  his  attack  upon  the 
helpless  towl  before  him ;  an  entrance  once  effected 
he  would  resume  his  seat.  ' 

"It  beats  me,"  he  was  saying,  glancing  towards 
Dr.  Metcher  as  he  spoke,  "it  beats  me  how  any 
man  can  go  and  see  sick  folks  every  day—I'd  sooner 
do  hard  labour.  Don't  you  get  awful  tired  of  it. 
Doctor  ?  " 

The  minister's  gentle  face  flushed  a  little— the 
same  face  at  sight  of  which  the  sad  and  the  wrary 
were  wont  to  take  ncxv  hope.  '•  I  don't  think  you 
understand  it,  Mr.  Craig."  he  answered  quietly; 
"  any  one  who  regards  it  as  you  do  could  never  see 
the  beaut)-  of  it-it  all  depends  on  what  you  take 
with  you." 

"Good  heavens,  do  you  have  to  take  thin-s  with 
3'ou  ?  •  cried  the  astonished  host.  '•  Matters  are 
come  to  a  pretty  pass  when  they  expect  a  poor 
preacher  to  be  g,ving_as  well  as  praying.''  he 
a fln-med,  thrusting  savagely  at  the  victim  on  the 
platter. 

David  Borland  was  listening  intently,  nabbing 
dexterously  the  while  at  a  tray  of  salted  almonds 
mat  liiy  a  good  arm's  length  awa\'  from  him.  "  The 
mmister's  quite  nght."  he  now  broke  in  ;  "  yon  don't 
>nKler.stand,  Mr.  Craig-Dr.  l-'letcher  don't  mean  that 
he  takes  coal  an'  tea,  when  he  visits  poor  folks  ]U,t 
•>viiat  ],e  says  is  dead  true  just  the  same-a.iv  one 


48 


THE    WEB   OF    TIME 


can  carry  a  bag  of  turnips,  or  such  like,  to  any  one 
that's  wilhn'  to  take  'em.  But  a  minister's  got  to 
give  somethin'  far  more  than  that ;  even  on  Sundajs 
—at  least  that's  my  idea  of  it— even  on  Sundays, 
what  a  preacher  gives  is  far  more  important  than  w  hat 
he  says." 

"  You  mean  he  ought  to  give  himself,"  Mrs.  Craig 
suggested,  stirring  the  gravy  as  she  spoke,  the  dib- 
membered  turkey  being  now  despatched  to  its 
anointing. 

"  That's  it  exactly,"  rejoined  David,  beaming  on 
his  hostess,  her  own  face  aglow  with  the  gentle  light 
that  flows  from  a  sympathetic  heart.     "  Everythin's 
jest  a  question  of  how  much  you  give  of  your  own 
self;  even  here,"  his   voice  rising  as  he  hailed  the 
happy  illustration,  "  even   in  this  here  house— with 
this    here  bird— uc  ain't  cnjoyin'  it  because  we're 
gettin'  so  much  turkey,  but  because  we're  gettin'  so 
much  Craig,"  he  went  on  fervently.     "  I  could  buy 
this  much  turkey  for  a  tiuarter,"  passing  a  well-laden 
plate  as  he  spoke,  <•  for  twenty-five  cents  ai  an  catin' 
house— but    it   wouldn't    jest    taste   the   same.      It 
wouldn't  have  the  Craig  taste,  you  see— there  wouldn't 
be  no  human   flavour  to  it,  like;   an'  turkey  ain't 
nothin'  without  a  human  flavour.    That's  what  makes 
evcrythin'  taste  good,  you  see,"  he  concluded,  smil- 
ing benignly  around  on  the  assembled  guests. 

'•  I  don't  behcve  in  a.u  such,"  retorted  Mr.  Craig; 
"  no  mixture  of  that  kind  for  mine.  Turkey's  one 
thing,  and  humanity's  another— no  stews  for  me,"  he 
directed,  ,mi!ing  broadly  .t  this  fla^h  of  unaccusuimed 


A    FLO  IV   of   SOUL  49 

wit;    "people   eat   turkey— but  not  humanity,"  he 
concluded  victoriously. 

"You're  wrong  there,"  replied  David  Borland 
quickly.  '<  Folks  lives  on  humanity— only  it's  got 
to  be  served  warm,"  he  added,  falling  to  upon  the 
turkey  nevertheless. 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Doctor  ?  "  Mrs.  Bor- 
land enquired  absentl>-,  for  her  real  concern  was  with 
David  ;  his  dinner  knife  was  her  constant  terror  when 
they  were  dining  out.  All  was  well  so  far,  however, 
her  husband  devoting  it  as  yet  to  surgery  alone. 

"  I  think  exactly  wliat  your  husband  th'nks,"  re- 
plied the  minister.     "He  has  said  the  very  thing  I 
have  often  wished  to  sa>'.     I  have  always  feit  that 
what  a  preacher  ghcs  to  his  people— of  his  heart 
and  love  and  sympathy—is  far  more  than  what  he 
says  to  them.     If  it  were  not  so,  they'd  better  stay 
home  and  read  far  finer  things  than  he  can  say ;  I 
often  feel  that  preparing  to  preach  is  far  more  im- 
portant than  preparing  a  sermon.     And  I  think  the 
same  holds  true  of  all  giving— all  philanthropy,  for 
instance.     What  you  give  of  ^-ourself  to  the  poor  is 
far  more  than  what  you  give  from  your  pocketbook 
—and,  if  the  truth  were  told,  I  believe  it's  what  the 
poor  are   looking   for,   far   more   than   they   are   for 
money."     The  tenderness  in  Dr.  Fletcher's  face  and 
the  slight  <iuiver  in  hi^  voice  atte.'^ted  the  sincerity  of 
his  feeling  ;  they  might,  too,  have  afforded  no  little 
explanation  of  the  love  that  all  Glenallen  felt  for  the 
humble  and  kindly  man. 

iMr.  Craig  laughed;  and  that  laughter  was  the  key 


50 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


tM 


[ft 


to   his  character.     Through  that  wave  of    metalhc 
merriment,  as  through  a  tiny  pane,  one  might  see 
into  all  the  apartments  of  a  cold  and  cheerless  heart 
•'  1  hat's  mighty  pretty,  Doctor."  he  began  jocosely  \ 
"  but  if  I  was  poor  I'd  sooner  have  the  cash-give 
me  the  turkey,  and  you  can  have  the  humanity      I 
believe  in  keeping  these  things  separate,  Dr.  Fletcher  " 
he  went  on  sagaciously;  -.  no  mixin'  up  business  with 
religion,  for  me-of  course,  helping  the  poor  isn't 
exactly  religion,  but  it  comes  mighty  near  it.     And 
«f  I  give  anything  to  the  poor_I  used  to.  too.  used 
to  giye_to  give  so  much  every  year,  till  I  found  out 
one  family  that  bought  a  watermelon  with  it,  and 
then  I  thought  it  was  about  time  to  stop.     But  when 
I    used   to-to  give  to  the  poor,  I  always    did    it 
saictly  as  a  matter  of  business;  just  gave  so  much 
to— to  an  official-and  then  I  didn't  want  to  know 
how  he  dispensed  it,  or  who  got  it,  or  anything 
about  it"  ** 

"  Did  the-the  ofiRcial— did  he  give  all  his  time  to 
dispensin'  it.  Mr.  Craig  ?  Or  did  he  just  do  it  nights 
and  after  hours  ?  "  enquired  David  Borland,  detaching 
his  napkin  from  his  upper  bosom  and  scouring  an 
unduly  merry  mouth  with  it  the  while. 

Mr.  Craig  glanced  suspiciously  at  his  guest  "  I 
didn't  wish  to  know,"  he  replied  loftily  in  a  moment ; 
"  all  I  m  making  out  is  the  principle  that  governed 
me.  And  I  ah.ays  take  the  same  stand  in  my  busi- 
nes-s-ahvays  assume  the  same  attitude  towards  my 
men.  he  amplified,  as  proud  of  his  language  as  of 
h.s  attitude.     ..  Of  all  the  men  I've  got  hired."  I  don't 


A    FLOW   of  SOUL  5, 

believe  I  know  a  half  dozen  except  the  foremen  I 
get  their  work,  and  they  get  their  pay  every  second 
ana  fourth  Tuesday—and  that's  the  end  of  it." 

"  You  don't  know  how  much  you  miss,"  the  minis- 
ter ventured,  quite  a  glow  of  colour  on  his  otherwise 
palhd  cheek.  "  There's  nothing  so  interesting  as 
human  life." 

"  You  bet-thafs  just  it,"  chimed  David's  robust 
voice  ;  "  that's  where  a  fellow  gets  his  recreation.  1 
don't  think  I'm  master  of  my  business  till  I  know 
somethin'  about  my  men— there  ain't  no  process,  even 
m  uianulactunn',  half  so  interestin'  as  the  doin's 
of  folks  in  their  own  lives.  I  know  lots  of  their 
wives,  too,  an'  half  the  kids-please  give  me  a  little 
more  stuffin'.  Mrs.  Craig:  it's  powerful  good,"  and 
David  passed  his  plate  as  cheerfully  as  his  opinion 

"  That  may  be  your  way  of  taking  your  recreation. 
Mr.  Borland,  but  it  isn't  mine,"  retorted  the  host  ob- 
viously a  little  ruffled.  -  Business  on  business  l.'nes 
thats  my  motto.  Just  the  other  day  a  little  gaffer 
asked  me  for  work,  on  the  plea  that  he  wanted  to  fiv 
up  his  mother's  eyes-wanted  to  send  her  to  a  spe- 
cialist. I  think-and  I  told  him  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  case ;  if  I  wanted  him  I'd  take  him.  and  if  I 
didn  t,  nobody's  eyes  could  make  any  difference." 

"  Was  his  name  1  larvey  Simmons  ?  "     David  en- 
quired somewhat  eagerly. 

"I  believe  it  was.     Why.  what  do  you  know  about 
him  ?  " 

''  Oh,  nothin'  much— only  I   hired  him.     And  he 
isn't  goin'  to  have  no  blind  mother  i(  my  givin'  him 


S2  THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 

work  will  help— that's  more.  She's  got  a  son  worth 
lookin'  at— that's  one  thing  sure.  An'  he  earned 
every  penny  I  ever  gave  him,  too— what  was  you 
goin'  to  say,  Doctor  ?  "  For  he  saw  the  minister  had 
something  to  offer. 

"I   know     the     little      fellow     well,"     said     Dr. 
Fletcher,  evidently  glad  of  the  opportunity.     "  Poor 
httle  chap,  he's  had  hard  lines— his  father  was  a  slave 
to  drink,  1  believe,  and  the  poor  mother  has  fought 
about  as  good  a  fight  as  I  ever  saw.     Fm  sure  she 
carries  about  some  burden  of  sorrow  nobody  knows 
anything  about.     She  has  two  children.     Well,  a  long 
time  ago  now,  one  of  the  richest  couples  in  my  church 
offered  to  adopt  the  little  girl— and  they  got  me  to 
sound  her   on  the    subject.      Goodness    me!     You 
should  have  seen  the  way  the  woman  stood  at  bay. 
•  Not  till   the  last  crust's  gone,'  she  said.     She  was 
fairly  roused;  '  Fm  richer  than  they  are,' she  said  ; 
'  I've  got  my  two  children,  and  Fll  keep  them  as  long 
as   I   can   lift  a  hand   to   toil   for   them.'     Really,  I 
never  felt  more  rebuked  in  my  life— but  1  admired 
her  more  than  I  could  tell.     And  the  wee  fellow  raged 
like  a  little  lion.  '  Did  he  want  to  take  sister  ?_tcll  him 
to  go  home,  mother,'  and  he  was  fair!)-  shouting  and 
stamping  his  little  foot,  though,   the  tears  .veie  run- 
ning down  his  cheeks  all  the  while.      I  said  she  had 
two  children."  the  minister  added.  "  but  T  think  she 
lost  a  baby  through  some  sad  accident  years  ago." 

David  IJorland's  eyes  were  glistening.  "  Fully  for 
you.  Doctor  .'"his  voice  rang  through  the  room. 
"Bully  for  you-I  knew  the  lad  was  worth  stickin' 


A    FLOW   of  SOUL  5^ 

to.     I'm   proud  to  be  mixed  up  with  a  chap   hke 
that,"  thumping  the  table  as  he  spoke. 

"  That's  what  I  often  say  to  Peter,"  Mrs.  Craig  be- 
gan mildly  during  the  pause  that  followed.  "  I  often 
feel  what  you  sometimes  say  in  your  sermons,  Doc- 
tor—that we  ought  all  to  be  mixed  up  a  little  more 
together.  The  rich  and  the  poor,  I  mean.  They 
need  us,  and  we  need  them— and  we  both  have  our 
own  parts  to  play  in  the  great  plan." 

"  That's  it,  Mrs.  Craig,"  David  broke  in  lustily 
again  ;  "  that's  exactly  it— last  Sunday  when  we  sang 
that  line, '  My  web  of  time  Me  wove,'  I  jest  stopped 
singin  '—it  struck  me,  like  it  never  done  before,  as 
how  God  Himself  couldn't  v/eave  much  without  us 
helpin'  Him— the  rich  an'  the  poor— it's  Him  that 
designs,  but  it's  us  that  has  to  weave.  An'  I  reckon 
our  hands  has  got  to  touch— if  they're  workin'  on  the 
same  piece,"  he  concluded,  drinking  in  the  approving 
smile  with  which  Dr.  Fletcher  was  showing  his 
appreciation  of  the  quaint  philosophy. 

A  considerable  silence  followed,  the  host  show- 
ing no  disposition  to  break  i^  Cecil  was  the  first 
to  speak. 

"Harvey  wears  patches  on  his  knees,"  he  informed 
the  company.     «  What  is  there  for  dessert,  mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  Craig  whispered  the  important  information  ; 
the  radiant  son  straightway  published  it  to  the  world  : 
"  Plum  pudduig  !-I  like  that-only  I  hope  it  has 
hard  sauce." 

Which  it  ultimately  proved  to  have— and  to  Mrs. 
norland's  great  dismay.     For  David,  loyal  to  ancient 


-.  aA     '      .IMK«,       aik£^ 


54 


THE    U^EB    OF    TIME 


ways,  yet  ever  open  to  tlie  advantage  of  modern  im- 
provement, passed  back  his  plate  for  a  second 
helping. 

^  "I  used  to  think  the  kind  of  gravy-sauce  you 
b.ashed  all  over  it  was  the  whole  thing— but  I  behe-  • 
that  ointment's  got  it  beat."  he  said ;  whereat  Mrs' 
Borland  laid  her  spoon  upon  her  plate,  the  ointment 
and  the  anointed  untasted  more. 


VI 
AN    INyESTMENT 

DAVID  BORLAND  stood  quite  a  little  while 
gazing  at  the  contents  of  the  window  before 
he  entered  the  tiny  store.  Rather  scanty 
those  contents  were;  a  iQ^v  candy  figures,  chiefly 
chocolate  creations,  a  tawdry  toy  or  two,  some  sam- 
ples of  biscuits  judiciously  assorted,  a  gaudy  tinselled 
box  of  chewing-gum,  and  a  flaming  card  that  pro- 
claimed the  merits  of  a  modern  brand  of  tea. 

These  all  duly  scrutinized,  David  pushed  the  door 
open  and  entered  the  humble  place  of  business.  The 
opening  door  threw  a  sleigh-bell,  fastened  above  it 
mto  qu.te  an  hysterical  condition,  and  this  in  turn 
was  answered  by  hurrying  footsteps  from  the  inner 
room.     It  was  Harvey  who  appeared. 

"  ^ood-morning,  Mr.  Borland,"  the  boy  said  re- 
spectfully. «  Did  you  want  to  see  mothe.  en- 
quired a  little  anxiously  ;  '<  she's  gone  to  the  market, 
but  1  thmk  she'll  soon  be  back." 

''  That's  all  right,  my  boy,"  the  man  responded. 
"  No,  It  wasn't  your  mother  I  wanted;  it  was  you— 
I  come  to  do  a  little  business." 

"Oh,"  said  Harvey,  glancing  hopefully  towards 
the  window. 

55 


56 


•THE    U^tB    OF    TIME 


"  'Tain't  exactly  shop  business, "  David  said,  a  little 
nervously,  •<  I  come  to— to  buy  a  hen,"  he  blurted  out. 
Harvey's  hand  went  like  lightniiij,'  into  the  glass 
case.  Withdrawn,  it  produced  a  candy  creature  of 
many  colours,  its  comb  showing  the  damage  that 
vandal  tongues  had  done.  "  Totty  Moore  licked  at 
It  once  or  twice  when  we  wasn't  lookin',"  he  ex- 
plained apologetically;  "it  used  to  be  in  the  win- 
dow—it's  a  settin'  hen,"  he  enlarged,  in  licating  with 
his  finger  a  pasty  pedestal  on  which  the  creative 
process  was  being  carried  on. 

David  grinned  broadly.  -  Tain't  that  kind  of  a 
hen  I'm  wantin',"  he  said.  "  1  want  the  real  article— 
a  real  hve  two-legged  hen." 

"  Oh,"  said  Harvey,  staring  hard. 
"Where's  your  chicken-house?  "  enquired  David, 
coming  to  business  direct. 

"  It's  outside,"  the  boy  replied  instructively—"  but 
there  ain't  very  many." 

"  Let's  go  and  see  them,"  said  the  man. 
The  boy  led  the  way,  Da^•id  ducking  his  head  sev- 
eral times  en  route,  bowing  profoundly  at  the  last  as 
they  entered  the  little  house. 

"  This  your  hennery  ?  "  he  asked,  surveying  the  in- 
mates amid  a  storm  of  cackling ;  "  sounds  like  you 
had  hundreds  of  'em." 

"  Just  five,"  said  Harvey,  p.  ering  towards  his  cus- 
tomer through  the  semi-darkness. 

"  I  think  I'll  bu^  that  there  one  on  the  roost." 
David  said  after  due  deliberation ;  "  seems  to  be  the 
highest-minded  of  the  bunch." 


■^r^  -v.^>^'  < 


^n    INVESTMENT 


57 


"Can't,"  said  Harvey,  «« that's  Jessie's;  it's  only 
got  ju:,t  one  eye— that's  why  Jessie  wanted  it.  Can't 
sell  Jessie's,"  he  concluded  firmly. 

David  agreed.  "Haven't  you  got  one  called 
I'inky?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Xo,"  Harvey  rephed  solemnly,  "  she's  dead— we 
had  her  a  long,  long  time  ago.  1  can  show  you  her 
grave  outside  in  the  yard." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Borland ;  « this  ain't  no 
day  for  inspectin'  graves.  I  might  have  known  she'd 
passed  away— how  long  does  a  hen  live,  anyhow— a 
healthy  hen  ?  " 

•'  Depends  on  how  they're  used,"  said  the  boy ; 
"  Pinky  sneezed  to  death— too  much  pepper,  I  think. 
Who  told  you  about  Pinky,  sir  ?  " 

"Depends  a  good  deal,  too,  on  how  often  the 
preacher  comes  to  dinner,  don't  it  ?  It  was  Madeline 
told  me  about  Pinky— you  know  my  girl,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  and  Harvey's  face  was  bright;  "  I'm  awful 
sorry  Pinky 's  dead— I  could  sell  you  one  of  Pinky's 
grandchildren's  children,  Mr.  Borland." 

"  What  ?  "  said  Mr.  Borland,  turning  a  straw  about 
and  placing  the  unchewed  end  in  his  mouth, "  one  of 
what  ? " 

"  One  of  Pinky's   grandchildren's  children.     Yo 
see,  her  child  was  Fluffy,  and  its  child  was  Toppy  _ 
that  was  her  grandchild  ;  well,  its  child  was  Black'  ,— 
and  that's  her  scratchin'  her  cheek  with  her  leP  .oot. 
She's  done  scratchin',  but  that's  her  over  there." 

"She's  got  the  Pinky  blood  in  her  all  right?" 
asked  Mr.  Borland. 


58 


THE   IV  np   OF    7/ ME 


"Shes  bound  to  i.wo  it,'  the  boy  answered 
gravely;  "they  ua.  all  h-.n  right  in  this  room; 
besides.  I've  g,  ,t  it  all  \  down  on  the  door." 

Dav.d  surveyed  'k  -c  -vLdant  critically.  ••  Does 
she  lay  brown  eggs  ?  ■.,  ^  .red  prescnth/.  "  Mad- 
eline said  Pinky  ahva.  ^    ;..;  I  own  egrrs." 


■jfi. 


"  ''hey 're — they're 
~  ■         .'lie>-  mostly 

gs,"  remarked  the 


i; 

i  [ 


Harvey  hesitated  j,  men 
pretty  brown,"  he  saiJ  .n  .  : 
turn  brown  a  little  al 

"I'm  terrible  fond 
purchaser. 

•'  What  for?"  asked  H  .rv  ey.Iookiag  full  into  his  face 
•'  Uell,  really_I  dent  know,"  and  David  grinned 
a  httle.  "Only  I  aluays  fancy  they're  kind  o'_ 
kind  o'  better  done,  don't  you  think  ?  Jk^sides  "  he 
added  quickly,  "  I  always  like  my  toast  brown,'  too 
— aiK!  they  kind  o'  match  better,  you  see." 

"  Yes,"  said  H:ii  '.ey  reflectively  ;  "  I  n^xcr 
thought  of  that  before.  Of  course,  there  isn't  any 
hen  can  be  taught  a/zc^nj's  to  lay  them  brown— I 
think  lilackie  tries  to  make  them  as  brown  as  she 
can,"  glancing  fondly  at  the  operator  as  he  spoke. 
"  If  you  was  to  feed  her  bran.  Mr.  Borland,  I  think 
she'd  get  them  brown  nearly  all  the  time." 

That's  a  thunderin'  good  idea."  affirmed  Mr. 
Borland.  Harvey  chiming  in  with  increasing  assur- 
ance of  success  as  he  marked  the  favour  with  which 
his  theory  was  received. 

"  We'll  call  it  a  bargain,"  said  David. 

"All  right."  exclaimed  the  boy.  "just  wait  a  minute 
till  I  get  a  bag." 


Jt-^ 


yin    INyESTMEN7  39 

"  Don't  bother  about  that;  1 11  just  leave  her  here 
tiii  I  send  lor  hcr—.hcll  earn  her  board.  J3ut  I 
nay  as  uxil  pay  yuu  nuu—how  mucli  i^  she 
n  orth  ?  " 

The  boy  pondered.  "  I  don't  hardly  know— of 
course  the  bro'va  kind  comes  a  little  dearer,"  he 
ventured,  glancing  cautiously  at  Mr.  Borland. 
"  She's  an  awfu!  •veil-bixd  hen— I  can  show  you  on 
the  door.  And  .lie'U  cat  anything-Jessie's  string 
of  beads  broke  louse  in  the  yard  once  end  Blackie 
ate  them  all  but  two ;  that  shows  she's  healthy. '  he 
concluded  earnestly. 

"Ifb  a  u.>nder  she  ain't  layin'  glass  alleys,"  re- 
marked David.  "  Well,  about  the  ijrice— 111  tell 
> ou  wliat  I'll  do  with  you.  I lercs  a  bill— an'  if  she 
keeps  on  at  the  broun  business,  mebbe  I  lUive  you  a 
little  more." 

He  handed  the  boy  a  crisp  note,  the  lad's  hand 

trembling  as  he  took  it.     He  gave  the  door  a  push 

>pen    that    the   light  might  fall   on  it.     "  Oh,  Mr. 

Borland,"  he  cried,  m  a  loud,  shrill  voice,  "  I  won  t— 

you  mustn't,  you  mustn't.     Mother  wouldn't  let  me 

-I  can't— please  take  it  back,   Mr.    Borland,"   and 

David  noticed   in   the     allcr  light  tiiat   Iho  boy  was 

.-iiaking  with  emotion,  his    face  aglow  '.vith  its  eager 

excitement. 

"  xMonsensc,  my  ;  .d  ;  what  you   going  on  about.? 

I   reckon   1  kno-.v  sometlun'  about  the  price  of  hens 

~.    pecially  the  brown  kind.     No.  I  'won't  take  it 

b  ck.     She's   worth   that  much  to  me  jest  to  keep 

the  }aid  red  up  o  glass.  ' 


6o 


THE   IVEB    OF   TIME 


"  Oh,  Mr.  Borland—I  wish  I 


"  Tut,  tut,"  David  interrupted  ;  "  boys  should  take 
what's  set  before  'em,  an'  ask  no  questions—an' 
don't  you  tell  nobody  now,  only  your  mother 
Say,  isn't  that  her  callin'?  Listen— it  is.  sure 
enough— that's  your  mother  callin'  you,"  and  David 
took  advantage  of  the  interruption  to  unlatch  an  ad- 
jommg  gate,  slipping  through  to  the  outer  lane,  his 
face  the  more  radiant  of  the  two. 


I 

1 


■s-gw**    < 


VII 


^ 


II 


I 


"EFFECTUAL  CALLING" 


'LL  go  with  you  as  far  as  the  door,  dear— 
but  the  ciders  wouldn't  want  me  to  come  in 
of  course."  Thus  spoke  Mrs.  Simmons  to' 
her  son  as  the  little  family  were  seated  at  their 
evening  mcl.  Very  humble  it  was,  indeed,  with  its 
strawberry  jam,  and  bn  ul  and  cheese,  these  them- 
selves carefully  measured  out. 

"  Come  away,  Jessie;  what's  keeping  you  -  •  the 
mother  called  to  the  outer  kitchen. 

"Ill  come  in  a  minute,  mother,"  the  child's 
cheery  voice  replied.  ••  I'n,  domg  something." 
nl.  ch  was  evident  a  little  later  when  Jessie  appeared, 
flushed  and  triumphant,  bearing  in  one  hand  a  little 
P  a  c  of  well-browned  toast,  and  in  the  other,  her 
I'ttle  hngers  tingling  with  its  heat,  a  large  brown 
egg.  evidentl)-  an  unwonted  luxury 

"Jessie,  my  child,  what  have  you  been  doing?" 
>c  mother  asked,  peering  rather  closelj-  at  the 
clainties  the  child  had  hud  upon  her  plate.  "  Oh 
essie  you  shouldn't  have  done  it-you  know  we' 
can  t  afford  it,  dear ;  we  need  to  sell  them  all  "  she 
remonstrated,  affection  and  gratitude  nevertheless 
mmghng  in  licr  voice. 

Oi 


62 


THE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


"  It  was  cracked,  mother— it  got  a  little  fall,"  the 
child  explained  artfully. 

"  Jessie  gave  it  a  little  fall ;  she  alua)-s  gets  the 
biggest  one  cracked  a  little  when  there  isn't  much 
for  supper— don't  you,  sister  ?  "  I  larvey  asked  know- 
ingly. 

His  sister  blushed,  but  the  reply  she  was  struggling 
to  provide  was  interrupted  by  the  tinkling  of  the  bell 
above  the  door  in  the  little  room  without.  This 
was  a  signal  the  mother  was  never  slow  to  obey ; 
customers  were  rare  enough  and  must  not  be  per- 
mitted to  escape.  Rising  quickly,  she  made  her 
way,  her  liands  extended  rather  pitifully,  to  the  lillle 
room  that  did  duty  as  a  store.  Jessie  bore  the  little 
delicacies  back  to  the  kitchen,  lest  they  should  cool 
in  the  interval. 

The  mother  was  back  again  in  a  minute,  sighing 
as  she  resumed  her  seat. 

"Did    they    buy    anything,    mother?"    her    son 
enquired. 

"  No,  nothing — the>'  wanted  something  we  didn't 
have;  I  sent  them  to  Iv.rd's,"  referring  U)  a  more 
elaborate  establishment  on  an  adjoining  street.  "  I 
was  speaking  about  you  going  to  the  elders'  meet- 
ing, Harvey — I'll  go  with  you  as  far  as  the  church, 
as  I  said.  And  you  mustn't  be  afraid,  son  ;  they'll 
be  glad  you're  going  lo  join  the  church.  And  you 
must  just  answer  what  taey  ask  you,  the  same  as 
you  do  to  me  at  home." 

"  Will  they  ask  me  the  catechism,  mother?" 

"  Sonu-  of  the  questions,  most  likely,     lie  sure  you 


"EFFECTUAL    CALLING-  63 

know  'effectual  calling  '-I  think  they  nearly  always 
ask  '  effectual  calling.'  "  ^ 

"  I  know  that  one  all  right,"  the  boy  answered. 
"  1  said  It  to  Jessie  four  times  last  night— do  you 
think  there'll  be  others  there  to  join  the  church, 
mother  ?  "  ' 

"  I  couldn't  say  for  sure,  but  it's  likely  there'll  be 
some.  I  guess  it's  almost  time  to  go  now  dear  " 
she  said  rising.  -Jessie,  you'll  do  the  ocst  you  can 
If  anybody  comes  in— 111  not  be  long." 

"  Will  it  be  all  right  about-about  you  finding 
your  way  back,  mother  .;>"  Harvey  asked  slowly  his 
voice  full  of  solicitude. 

"  Of  course,  child,  of  course-you  and  Jessie  are 

growmg  quite  foolish  about  me.     I'm  not  so  bad  as 

hat.    she  protested.     ■.  Why.  I  can  tell  the  day  of 

he  month,  when  I  stand  up  close  to  the  calendar- 

this  IS  the  23d."  she  affirmed  reassuringly,  stepping 

out  into  the  night  with  Harvey  clinging  close  beside 

Neither  spoke  much  as  they  walked  on  towards 
he  village   church.     Often,  when  she  thought  the 
boys  eyes  were  not  upon  her.  the  woman  lifted  her 
own   upward   to   the  silent  stars;   the   night  always 
re  ted  her.  something  of  its  deep  tranquillity  passing 
•no   the    t,.ed   heart   that   had   known   so   nu.ch   of 
battle      And  yet  the  long  struggle  had  left  vpon  her 
A-.CC  the  marks  of  peace  rather  than  the  .scars  of  con- 
m         ,     "^^'■'■'"^^•"^  there  were  traces  few  or  none, 
although  sufficient  provocation  could  recall  the  olJ- 
^'nie   sparkle   to   the   eyes  that  had   been   so  often 


■Jiaj.7ertM3g3:k^.'  <1     t! 


64  THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 

dimmed;  but  something;  noble  was  there  instead,  a 
placid  beauty  sucli  as  comes  alone  from  resij^Miation, 
born  of  a  heart  that  has  found  its  rest  in  a  Strength 
and  1  enderness  which  dwell  beyond  the  hills  of  time. 
It  one  could  have  caught  a  vision  of  that  face,  up- 
turned to  the  radiant  sky  above  her,  the  glimpse 
would  have  disclosed  features  of  shapely  strength, 
marked  by  great  patience,  the  eyes  full  of  brooding 
gentleness  and  love,  conscious  of  the  stern  battle  that 
composed  her  life,  but  conscious,  too— and  this  it  was 
that  touched  the  face  with  passion— of  mvisible  re- 
sources, of  an  unseen  Ally  that  mysteriously  bore 
her  on. 

"  Let  us  go  in  here  a  minute,"  the  mother  said 
when  they  were  almost  at  the  church. 

Harvey  followed    her,  unquestioning.     He    knew 
whither  her  feet  were  turned,  for  he  had  often  fol- 
lowed that  well-marked  path  before,  often  with  tod- 
dling   feet.     They    entered    the    quiet    churchyard, 
passing    many   an    imposing    monument,    threading 
their   way  with    reverent   steps    among    the   graves, 
careful    that    no    disrespect    should    be   siiown   the 
humblest  sleeper.     On  they  pressed,  the  dew  glisten- 
ing   upon    their   shoes    as    they   walked,   their  very 
breathing  audible  amid  the  oppressive  silence.    (Grad- 
ually the  woman's   steps   grew  slower;  and  as  she 
crept  close  to  an  unmarked  grave  that  la)-  among 
the   untitled   mounds  around  it,  the  slender   frame 
trembled  slightly,  drawing  her  poor  shawl  closer  as 
she  halted  with  downcast  eyes,  gazing  at  the  silent 
sepulchre  as  it  lay  bathed  in  the  lonely  light  cf  the 


vaSRT 


"•^"sxr^ 


'•EhFECTUAL    CALLING 


(>', 


ncvv-ri.cn  moon,  'llic  boy  stood  bLuincl  her  for  a 
moment,  then  crept  close  t.  her,  his  liand  glidin- 
into  liers  ;  the  woman's  closed  about  it  passionately, 
Its  warmth  stealing,'  inward  to  her  heart. 

"I  think  I  remember  when  baby  died,"  Harvey 
bejran,  after  they  had  stood  h,,,^'  together  by  the 
k'lave;  "  1  was  asleep,  wasn't  I,  mother?  I  remem- 
ber in  the  mornin<^" 

"  \  es,  dear,"  said  his  mother,  her  voice  tremulous  ; 
"yes,  you  were  asleep— I  was  with  baby  u  iien  she 
died." 

•'  ^Vas  father  there  too,  mother  ?  " 
"Yes.  Harvey,  yes— i)ull  that  weed,  dear,  there, 
at  the  foot  of  baby's  t^rave." 

"Did  father  cry  when  baby  died,  mother?— like 
you  did.  mother?" 

"  I  don't  know,  dear— yes.  I  think  so.  We'll  have 
to  brin^r  some  fresh  flowers  soon,  won't  we,  Harvej-  ?  " 
the  mother's  lips  trembling. 

"  Yes,  mother.  I'll  pick  some  pretty  ones  to-mor- 
row. DkI  father  die  long  after  baby,  mother  ?  "  the 
boy  pursuing  the  dread  subject  with  the  strange  per- 
sistence wherewith  children  so  often  j.robe  a  secret 
wound. 

"  N<^  my  son-yes,  I  mean;  yes,  Harvey,  ,t  was 
the  same  night.  I  think,"  her  nervous  fingers  roving 
about  Harvey's  uncovered  liead. 

"  You  ///////•,  mother^"  the  tone  full  of  surprise. 

"It  was  lu.ar  the  same  time.  Harvey."  she  an- 
swered hurriedly,  unable  to  control  her  voice.  ••  I 
can't   tell  yuu   now,  son— some  da>-,  perhai)s.     But 


^^^I^SS^S^S'T 


66 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


mother  was  so  sorry  about  baby  that  she  hardly 
kiious— don't  ask  me  any  more  about  it,  Harvey," 
she  suddenly  pleaded;  "  never  any  more—some  diy 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  your  father,  and  all  you've 
asked  me  so  often.  ]5ut  don't  ask  me  any  more, 
my  son— it  makes  mother  leel  bad,"  as  she  bent 
over  to  kiss  the  curious  lips. 

He  could  see  the  tears  upon  his  mother's  cheeks, 
and  he  inwardly  resolved  that  her  bidding  should  be 
done,  silently  wondering  the  while  what  this  myste- 
rious source  of  pain  might  be. 

After  a   long  silence    the  boy's  voice  was  heard 
again  :     "  Weren't  baby's   eyes   shut  when  she  died 
mother  ?  " 

"  ^'^^'  darling— yes,  they  were  closed  in  death," 
and  the  unforgetting  heart  beat  fast  at  the  tender 
memory. 

"  But  they're  open  now,  aren't  they,  mother  ?— and 
wasn't  it  God  that  did  it  ?  '" 

"Yes,  Harvey,  they're  open  now— God  opened 
them,  I'm  sure." 

"  Couldn't   He   make  people  see  all  right  before 
they're  dead,  mother  ?     Couldn't  He  do  it  for  you  ?  " 
,      "  Yes,  child— yes.  He  could  if  He  wanted  to  " 

•'  And  whj'  wouldn't  He  want  to  ?  "  the  boy  asked 
Nvondenngly.  M'm  sure  He  could;  and  I've  been 
asking  Him  to  do  it  for  us  Himself_if  we  couldn't 
Kct  the  money  for  the  doctor  to  do  it.  Wasn't  that 
right,  mother?" 

The  moon,  high  now,  looked  d.)wn  upon  the  lonely 
p^ur;  they  stood  together,  they  tw.>.  bc^^idc  the  un 


r-tz.''     jtiAi 


(( 


EFFECTUAL    CALLING" 


67 


responsive  grave,  the  elder  face  bathed  in  tears,  tlie 
youn^rcr  unstained  by  grief  and  wistful  with  the  eager 
trust  of  childhood.  The  insignia  of  poverty  was 
upon  them  botli,  and  the  boy  sliivered  slightly  in  the 
chill  air ;  but  the  great  romance  and  tragedy  of  life 
were  interwoven  there,  love  and  hope  antl  sorrow- 
playing  the  parts  they  had  so  often  played  befor.^ 
The  woman  stooped  down  amid  the  glistening  gra>s 
and  took  her  child  into  her  arms,  pressing  him  clo>e 
to  her  tnjubled  bosom,  her  face  against  his  cheeiv, 
while  her  c\-es  roved  still  about  his  sifter's  grave. 

"  We  must  go  on,"  she  murmured  presently. 
"  Can  you  see  a  light  in  the  church  ?  " 

"  L'ld  >-<)u  join  when  you  were  just  a  girl, 
motlier  ?  "  the  boy  asked,  his  lips  close  to  her  ear. 

"^es,'  she  replied,  "I  was  very  young  when  I 
joinetl." 

"  Did  fatUer  ever  join  the  church?"  Harvey  went 
on,  releasing  his  face  to  ga/.e  about  the  sleeping 
city. 

"  •^'^'  dear— no,  your  father  never  was  a  member  oi 
the  church,  ■  she  said  softly. 

"W'aMi't  he  good  enough?  Wouldn't  they  let 
him?"  the  lad  asked  wonderingiy. 

"  They  never— they  never  refused  him,"  liis  mother 
faltered.  ••  Hut  he  never  thought  he  was  good 
enough." 

•'  Hut  he  was,  wasn't  he?"  the  boy  pursued. 

"  Ves,  ilear— yes,  he  was  once— he  often  was.  He 
alwajs  meant  to  be  good:  he  lovtrd  yon,  Harvey. 
And   he   made   me  promise   that  some  day  I  would 


mm 


Tscea 


68 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


tc!l  you  uhy  lie  thouglit-uliy  he  thought  he  wasn't 
^-.od  enou-h.  He  was  afraid  you  ni.-ht  be  the 
■^-une;  it  uas  something  he_someth;ng  he  couldn  t 
nc  p  very  well-Ml  tell  you  some  day.  Harve>-. 
V«hos  that?"  she  whispered  excitedly,  pomt.n. 
twuards  a  .siiadowy  figure  that  was  winding  its  way 
siie-itly  towards  them. 

1 1...  mother  straightened  up  as  she  spoke.  Harvey's 
I>and  tight  clasped  in  hers  again.  The  figure  came 
owiltly  on. 

"It's    Madeline."   the    boy  said    rather   excitedly. 
Its  Madeline  Borland-I  gue=s  she's  going  to  iom 

too.  ^  r,  J 

Which  proved  indeed  to  be  the  case.  "  I  knew  ,t 
^va.  you.-  the  girl  began,  almost  breathless  as  -he 
came  up  to  them.  •■  The  beadle  said  it  was  you 
Harvey;  Julia  walked  to  the  church  with  me,  and 
.^I>e  s  waiting  till  I  join.  I  thought  perhaps  we  mi<d,t 
k^l'  in  together;  I  don't  want  to  go  in  alon'e." 
Harvey  could  see  ,n  the  dim  light  how  eagerly  the 
girl  s  eyes  were  searching  hi.^  mother's  face.  He  did 
nnt  withdraw  his  hand,  but  unconsciouslystraightened 
liimsell   in  cjuiet  dignity. 

"  Thi>  ..  my  mother,"  he  said  simply,  c-uitc  un- 
ta.mlK.,-  u-ith  the  modes  of  introduction  ;  '  .md  that's 
.\Ii>s  Borland,  mother." 

"  i'lcas  don't  say  that,"  the  girl  interrupted  ■•  I 
th.nk  you  might  call  me  Maddine ;  anyhow.  1  heard 
y«'u  call  me  Madeline  to  your  mother,"  as  she 
stepped  gently  around  die  foot  of  the  grave  and  ex- 
tended  her  hand   to   Harvey',   n^othcr.     The   older 


"EFFECTUAL    CALL/X'G"         hg 

woman  was  evidently  struck  by  the  girl's  beaiit\-.  b)- 
the  simple  grace  and  kindliness  of  her  manner.'  '.\i 
any  rate  she  held  the  outstretched  hand  rather  long 
m  hers,  gazing  on  the  tweet  lace  upturned  in  the 
quivering  light. 

"And  this—this  is  my  sister's  grave,"  Harvey's 
subdued  voice  added  a  moment  later. 

The  girl  said  nothing,  turning  a  solemn  gaze  upon 
the  lowly  mound.  She  had  been  long  familiar  witli 
the  quiet  acre,  but  this  was  perhaps  the  first  time  she 
had  re?' zed  the  dread  personality  that  clothes  the 
grave  with  dignity. 

"  Vou  haven't  any  treasure  here,  have  you,  Miss 
.Madeline?"  the  mother  asked  timidly,  when  the 
pause  had  become  almost  painful. 

"  Xo.  not  any,"  the  girl  answered  in  liusheil  tones  ; 
"we  haven't  even  gr)t  a  plot— I  never  had  a  little 
sister,'  _,hc  affirmed,  the  moistening  eyes  turning 
now  t,.  Harvey',  face.  He  looked' down,  then  up 
again,  and  the  soulful  gaze  was  sliU  fixed  upon  him. 
:\  kind  of  n-ave,  strange  and  unfamiliar,  seemed  to 
bailie  iu-i  s<-al;  he  did  not  wish  to  look  longer,  and 
)-et  ,;  s:.rt  .>t  spell  seemed  to  keep  his  eyes  fastened 
'^'1  her  lace.  The  girl's  look  was  eloquent  of  much 
thai  neither  iie  nor  she  was  able  to  interpret,  tlie  hr-t 
venti.r.j  out  to  sea  <.n  tlie  i  ;i.-t  of  either  scul. 

"  Doesn't  it  seem  strange  lliat  we  shouKl  iiieel  here 
—h.'jre  at  your  si>ter's  grave,"  'he  said  slowly,  after 
the  gaze  of  both  had  fallen.  •<  ( )f  coui>e,  we've  often 
Seen  each  other  at  srlKsol^-b-t  tlvi-^  i-  o;:r  fi;-t  real 
meeting,  isn't    it  »  "  .-.he    went    on,  gazing    now    to- 


-JO 


•THE   ll^EB    OF    TIME 


wards  the  light  that  tuniklcd  feebly  in  the  distant 
church. 

'■Ves,"  he  answered  simply.  «  yes.  ,t  is-I  cjue^s 
vved  better  go.  Du  you  know  the  catechi.m  .'"  he 
digressed,  bcgmning  to  move  loruard.  hah"  leading 
his  mother  by  the  hand. 

"  No,  I  don't.  Father  doesn't  believe  in  :ateclusms. 
-I  wanted  lum  to  join  along  with  me.  but  he  said 
he  wasn  t  good  enough.  Only  he  said  hed  see- 
It  would  be  just  like  him  to  come  without  my 
knowmfr.  ' 

;•  That's  what  my  father  said."  Harve>'  interjected 
qu.ckly ;  -.  and  my  mother  says  he  was  often  good- 
only  of  course  it's  too  late  now,"  a  little  sigh' escap- 
ing with  the  words.  ^ 

"  Perhaps  they  join  them  in  heaven."  the  girl  sug- 
gested in  an  awestruck  voice.  •.  Father  says  that's 
where  the  real  joining's  done;  if  your  father  was 
good,  I  m  sure  they'd  join  him."  she  concluded 
earnestly,  looking  into  both  the  serious  faces  as 
-She  spoke. 

"  Hon't  you  think  maybe  they  would,  mother?  " 
pleaded  the  boy.  The  habit  of  a  lifetime  committed 
everything  to  the  mother  for  final  judgment 

"  That's  in  God's  hands,  dear."  the  delicate  face 
t;Ianc.„g  upward  through  the  mist.  "  Im  sure  God 
-ould  do  It  if  He  cuuld-we'd  better  hurry  on; 
tliey  11  be  waiting  for  us  in  the  church." 

11>c  little  procession  wound  its  way  back  to  the 
humble  tenjple.  Harvey  still  holding  his  motlier  by 
the    hand,   Madeline   following  close   behind.     And 


(< 


EFFECTUAL    CALLING 


the   shadowy  home  of  the  Httle  child  was  Icit  alone 
in  the  silence  and  the  dark. 

The  youthful  pair  disappeared  within  the  ivy- 
grown  door.  The  mother,  her  dim  eyes  still  more 
dmimed  by  tears,  turned  upon  her  homeward  way,  a 
troubled  expression  on  her  face.  Why  had  she  nut 
told  him  more,  she  wondered  to  herself— something 
about  his  father,  and  the  cruel  appetite  that  had 
been  his  shame  and  his  undoing?  And  her  lips 
moved  in  trembling  prayer  that  God  would  save  her 
son  from  the  blight  of  his  father's  life,  that  the 
dread  heritage  might  never  wrap  his  life  in  the  same 
lurid  flame. 


W     1^ 


viir 

OF    SUCH    IS     THE    KINGDOM 

THI|:  predominant   national  type  among  the 
Glonallcn   (oiks    uas   Scotch,  and   tliat  di, 
tnicti:-.      David    iJorland    was    one  of  the 
K'u-  except.ons;  and  the  good   folk   about  him  liad 
var,ed    explanations    for    the    baffling    fact    that  he. 
A:uencan-Dred  though  he  uas.  i,ad  been  one  of  the 
mo,t  pn..perous  men  of  the  community.    Son.e  main- 
t^uned    that    h:s    remote    ancestry  mu.t    luive  erne 
'-■nthe  uuid  o-  cakes,  even  though  he  himself  were 
.'biiv.ous  to  heaven's  far-o,f  goodness      Others  con- 
cndea    that    his    long   association    u  ith    a    Scott.h 
ne.ghbourliood  had  inoculated   Inm  with  somethin-^ 
-1    the.r    distmctive    power;     while    the    profounder 
nnnds  acknowledged  frar/dy  that  the  ways  of  Prov- 
idence were    mj-steriou.,  and  that   th...  lonelv  spec- 
tacle o(  an  ahen  mortal,  handicapped  Horn  bi'rth  and 
y-t    n„n.  to   affluence  and   distinction,  was  but  an 
o  Klence  ot    the   Omnipotence  that  had  wrought  the 
niiracle. 

^  15ut  if^in  matters  temporal,  the  lu>toric  Scutch 
--ck  oi  Qenallen  had  been  compelled  to  divide  the 
v;'.l   u.th  tho.,e  ol   lesser  ongm,  the  control  of  af. 

an.  ecc  e.,ast.cal  was  carefully  reserved  lor  Scottish 
^>^^nd.,    alone.       This    went    without    .^aying.       Over 

72 


F^V;3t.'e«H!'r^WRi«»i.}w'/  iJWaXM' 


V)^r» 


Or    SUCH  ,s    7/,    A-/.'  o/n;v/       73 

every  dour  ui  church  officalJoin,  and  espcc.liv  of 
ti>c  c.dcr.h.p.  he  who  run  nuK^u  read:  "  No  In.h 
need  apply.  _and  the  restriction  included  all  to 
uhom  heaven  had  den.ed  iIk  .epar.tc  advantage  of 
^cottLsh  birtli  or  ancestry. 

Wherefore  it  came  about  that  tiic      ^  ,nbled  elder, 
•'••ho   o„   this   particulai    n,^ht  aua,a.d  lue  arrival  of 
•4^p!.cants     f.,r     church -nien.ber.h.p    were   about    as 
'-•nudablc    to   look    upon   as  any  hah  do.:en  of  mere 
;"c"  could  be.     Thed,^n,ty    ^i   th.'r  office  filled  th. 
'ittle  room  and  the  sense  of  rc:,p,M.,b:';ty    at  -a-. 
o"  ^very  face.      Two  there  were  :.n..n,  die./'newly 
elected  to  the  office-the  hi-he.^t  .Inc.  :    iK    -^  I 
il.ur  fellow-men-^and  these  two  weiv  ;,:,'.-  .'-^u-unr 
^-■tl.   new-born  s..Ien,n,ty.     The  older  n)en.  r.,axin^ 
^;'tl>    tlu,   year,  had   discarded  some    of  tl,e  s.mbre 
^irapery  tiuit  the  newer  ei.lcrs  wrapt  about  ther;  u;th 
pious  satisfaction. 

Ain...  Ranisay.  one  of  the  veterans,  had  ventured 
t-  a.k  one  ot  the  neu  ly  ordained  ir  they  would  fin,>h 
he   threshm^  at  his  f:n:n  to-morrow.      The  question 
uas  put  before  the  .ueetin,^  had  wJI  bec;un.  and  was 
^vln.pered   ,n    the   ear   at   that:    but    th^   shock  was 
ca>.Iy  .oen   on   the  new  elder's  face.  who.  recoverin-^ 
"^    -   "-ment,    informed   his   senior  that  thev  would 
;ascuss    the    matter    after    the    ••  sederunt  •'    Iv:,.   ad- 
J'urned.       Wh.ch    purel)-    Pre.^-ter.an    term    rolled 
nMii  h.s    hps   w,th  the  luxurious    unction  known  to 
1  lesbytcnan  elders,  and  to  them  alone. 

I  he   Session   had  been  coti'^titi'^-d      -A  cr--- ;     !j 
bandy    Mckerrachcr   had   led    in   pra>-er.  the   other 


•>-'. 


3j  •iuPYU**^  •  ««r 


74 


■THE    IVEB    Of    TIME 


i  I 


elders  standing  through  the  exercise.  Most  of  them 
had  one  foot  upon  a  chair,  the  elbow  resting  on  the 
knee  and  the  chin  upon  the  hand,  before  Sand}-  liad 
concluded.  In  fact,  the  i)recaiition  of  an  adjoin- 
ing chair  was  seldom  t)vcrlooked  by  any  when 
the  Moderator  named  Sandy  for  this  solemn  duty, 
his  sta)n\;  'k  ^vers  famous  for  fifty  years.  The  chict 
emphasis  of  his  prayer  was  laid  on  the  appeal  to 
Iniinite  Love  that  none  of  the  intending  communi- 
cants migl't  eat  and  drink  damnation  ).o  themselves. 
Tiiis  was  a  favourite  request  with  all  of  them  o.;  such 
occasions — excepting  one  elder,  and  giiod  Dr. 
Fletcher  himself — and  it  was  laigely  because  of  this 
that  the  Moderator  was  wont  to  see  the  Session  con- 
stiluied  before  the  candidates  were  admitted  to  the 
room. 

"  There's  some  bringin'  their  lines  fiae  ither  kirks," 
Robert  MaCaig  began,  when  the  Moderator  a>ked  if 
there  were  any  candidates  {ox  memberslii[),  "but 
there's  nae  muir  nor  twa  to  join  on  profession  o' 
laitli,"  he  added,  turning  a  despondent  eje  upon  his 
brother  elders.     "  We  used  to  hae  a  di/./en  or  mair." 

"Twa  souls  is  an  awfu'  lot,  Robert — twa 
never  d)-in'  souls!"  It  was  Geordie  Niclde  \\li.> 
sounded  the  hopeful  note.  He  was  the  ^aintliesl 
eld;'r  of  them  all,  and  the  saintliest  are  the  san- 
guinest.  "  We  maun  be  thankfu'  for  twa  niairtoown 
the  Saviour's  name,"  he  adiled  reverentlj-. 

"  Hut  they're  only  bairns,"  Robert  urged  ;  "  there's 
no'  a  muckle  man  among  tlien)." 

"That's   a'   the   better,"    returned   Geordie;     "the 


li 


II 


•bt-- 


Of  SUCH  is    ■The    KINGDOM       -^ 

Maistcr  was  a)-c  ^^kuJ  to  hac  the  bair.is  co.uc-ca' 
then  m."  he  said,  tlie  .hghtc^t  note  of  impatience  in 
ins  voice. 

A    moment    later     Harve>-    and     Madehne    were 
ushered    m,  very  shy   and  embarrassed,  tiieir  du^vn 
cast   eyes    fluttering    ui,\vard.    now  and   then  to  tlie 
stern  faces  fixed  upon  them. 

There  was  considerable  skirmishing  of  a  pre- 
J"""iary  sort,  the  elders'  questions  boomini,^  out 
solemnly  hke  minute  guns.  Suddenly  Robert  Mc- 
<-aig  proceeded  to  business. 

"  We'll  tak  a  nn  ower  the  fundamental,.,"  he  said 
brandishing  the  age-worn  term  as  though  he  had 
just  mvented  it.  ••  What  is  original  sin?"  he  de- 
manded ;  ■■  tell  the  Moderator  what's  original  sin." 

"  Ihe  Moderator  kens  fine  himser."  Andrew  Fum- 
•rcrton  whispered  to  the  elder  at  his  right,  sm.hng 
k^nmly.  But  tlie  man  beside  him  scarcely  hc.rd  for 
every  mind  was  intent  with  the  process  under  wav  ■ 
-scores  of  times  had  they  witnessed  it  before,  but 'it' 
was  agau,  as  nc^^■  and  absorbing  as  the  prowes.  of  a 
h-.hennan  iaiuling  his  reluctant  prize. 

W.II.e  (Mllesp.e   fell   to  .snecxmg  ;   he  it  wa^  at  who.e 
•"■"^  tin    thrchcrs  had   been   that  dav.  aud  who  had 
1>-'-'''  protanrly  questioned  by  Ainc:x<  Ram>av,  a-  al- 
'■^•|^iy  told.      iWhap.    't  was  the  d,,y\  d,M  that  pro- 
voked the  ..utbinM;   bt,t.  fr,,n,    whatever  can^e    the 
cxploMon    ua.  .vuurkable  in  its  power  and  d.r.a.ou 
one  deton;,;,,,,,   f.llowmg  another  with   heiuhtenm^^ 
""""'f  "il   il>^-  ''"■•!  l^-"ung  was  worthv  of  t!u.  no^ 


«f 


Ml 


7b 


THE    li'tB    Of    JIMH 


M 


bk'.-t  efibrts  of  modern   artillery.     At  the  bombarti 
meiit   increased   in   power,  the   elders    unconsciously 
braced  themselves  a  little  on  their  chairs,  disma>  ed 
at  the  unseemly  outbreak,  considerin^^f  the  place  and 
the  occasion. 

i  {arve\-,  tor  the  liie  of  him.  could  not  torbeai  to 
smile  ;  this  human  symptom  was  reassuring'  to  liini 
amid  the  stat;'  scjue  solemnity  ol'  the  room—  it  made 
original  sin  less  ghostl)-.  somehow,  and  lie  looked  al- 
most ^'ralefully  at  the  dynamic  Willie.  This  lattei 
worthy,  recoiling  like  a  sniokin^^  cannon,  ^n-opeel 
Irankiy  lor  his  no^c  a>  il"  apprehensive  that  it  had 
been  di-charijed ;  findinrr  it  uninjured,  he  repaired 
hastily  to  the  tail  pocket  ol  a  black  coat  that  had  sus- 
tained the  (lii^^nitN-  of  a  previous  generation  in  the 
eKier>h!p,  eMractin.t,^  therefrom  a  lurid  i)ockethaiul- 
IcerchiL'l — that  i>,  ori<^inall\'  lurid — but  now  a-^  \a- 
ri'.u-ly  bedecked  as  thoucjh  the  throhers  had  eiijo^xd. 
it-  common  ministry  that  c!a\-.  Wliercupon  iIiltc 
endued  a  succession  of  rcpiirts,  iii!"ci-ior  oni\-  to  tr.or 
mii^lity  predeces.-or^  ihcni  .e!\-(.'-,  ri-v_'inbl:ii^'  ni.tiiiii,; 
SM  much  a-  tl'c  desultory  lii'mg  that  succeed.s  the 
main  .ittack. 

"  \'c-.',as  a-kin'  wli.it  mi;dit  be  orii;in.d  iii,"  Willie 
munniirt'd  .r.-.k)-^,  a!!_\-  ir..m  bJimd  tlu-  t:.,'li!ul 
handk>:rcliie!,  -wi-hinL;  it  fiack-  :\ud  ti'iv,,iri'  on  h: 
no-c  llie  while  a-  ih.nitd,  I,^.  ^y^.y^.  ],,,|i  hi,,,,  tl,^. 
kiiMoI.cr  on  ;i  (l,M,r;  he  Ld.uued  a[)ol.  .;.;t  ticalK-  to- 
ward Mr.  .Mc('ai'4  •'-  be  spokr,  .ui.\iou-  to  iijiau  tlic 
Connr.-tioti  he  had  so  \iolef,tl\-  di-tnrbcd. 

'"  il    m\-   mrinoiy   ser\es   mc,"  !<..!)■.  it  returned  ^e 


1  i 


a-,-ie 
'■•    I- 

a,>  it 


Of   SUCH  IS    -The    K/\-GDOM        -7 

'■"^'■^'V  '■  "  '"^'  "'^"lory  .crvc-  inc.  that  .^  vvliat  ;ve 
'.va>  dcauM  w,  -order's  a  -raun'  tinn.4  ^t  a  nicctin'  ,.' 
MC  a  land  as  tin./'  l.c  added  .tcrr,ly.  hi.  ^a.c  foMwu- 
Hi^  tile  di.appcann-  baiincr  n-nv  ben-  recnt.un'.ed 

••  W  iiat  IS  ori-inal  sin,  Luidic  ^  Mcbbc  the 
I  1:1  ^10  nic  tiic  answer."  iic  MLnr^stcd.  I  larve 
•  ^:ico  iin;jrc.-M:iL[  hun  as  nicurabio. 

"I'm   nut  \xyy  .arc,"    liitcrcd    MiidclnK— - 
t!ic  kind  ;it  the  bf.^nininjj  ■' " 

Robert   McCa,-  had  no  d.  ■  nv  t,,  be  unncces.anl)- 
-^■verc  .  theretore  turne<!  enqinrni-lv  to  hi.  coliea-ue^ 
'•'U'lynu;  that  the  verdict  lay  vrUh  them.  "       ' 

"Very  i;ood.  duld,  very  -ood."  i  .r.  Fletcher  .aid 
''l>P'uv.n^ly.       ..  h\    very    luird    to   ansuer   Mr.    Mc- 
l^ai-s  ,p„.,t,.,n.-_hcM  had  it  d.ilkult  enou-h  hnn^eh 
^;''"'^  '^   .t,  Harvey?"  he  a,ked,  >mihnc;  at  the  b  ,v 
'■••no  >ccinv(.\  to  have  an  idea  ready. 

_     "  I'H  not  very  Mue  either,   but  isn't  it-.sn't  it  the 

^^^•'1  tlut  doon't  near  oir?  "  the  lad  ventured  tim.dlv. 
=  .'ther  aMiained  of  the  descnpl.on  altent  ua.  hn.shed 
^  "Y;!";^'!.  my  boy.  nrst-rate'"the  mun.ler  cried 
-■■^'lUedly.  "Il.at'^  better  than  anything  I  Icarn.-d 
^"  c.Mlc-e.  1  don't  behcve  any  one  could  ^et  much 
;^^'"-er  to^  It  ,l,,in  that-nou-  we'll  just  pass  fnun 
^"'-  ;■",:,„-  around  at  the  elders  a.  he  made  the 
-^^c:>t.on;  ••there  are  other  ,h,n^,  mor.  important 
—  la-  any  c-l  the  eulers  anytlun-  eisc  to  a.k  ?  " 

^"  '"!'  ^>y  a^ain.     Stern  questions,  wci^^hty  intcrro.^- 

■t'^■c.    su^,;eM,ve  ,,f  the  <ieepcst  mysteries,  were  pro- 

■    '""'l^''i    t.    tlu     youthful   pan-  as   complacently   a. 


!  I 


7'^ 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


III  \ 


t^  I 


■ji  ■ 


thou^li  tliey  were  being  asked  liuw  many  piiU.-  make 
a  gallon.  ( )nc  wanted  to  know  llieir  view  ul  the 
origin  of  evil,  following  thi^  by  a  suggestion  that 
the}-  should  each  give  a  br.ef  statement  of  the  dcjc- 
tnne  ^A  the  i  rinit\-.  Another  urged  that  tlu'v  should 
describe  in  brief  the  process  of  regeiieiatiou.  Still 
another  asked  if  they  could  repeat  the  books  of  the 
liibie  backwards — any  one,  he  >aul,  coiiid  tic  it  the 
old  way — iind  one  gool  elder  cappc!  the  climax  b}- 
saying  he  would  like  to  iiear  tliem  tell  h<  v.  to  recon- 
cile the  tree  agenc)-  of  m.ui  with  tlie  - '\eri  !!.;;it\'  of 
God. 

Hut  just  at  this  juncture  (icordie  Xickle  roe,  his 
face  beaming  with  tenderness,  .and  .!(!tirr--ed  tlie 
chair. 

"  They're  faslim'  the  bairns,  .Mnder.itor,"  he  said 
gently.  '•  Willi  )e  no'  let  me  [)it  a  wee  bit  (lue-lion 
or  twa  till  them  mysel'  ?  " 

The  Mtulerator  v,;i-  evidently  but  too  well  plea-ed, 
and  I'.is  nod  gave  (leonlie  the  right  of  waw  I'he  old 
man  moved  to  v.here  Harvey  and  .Madeline  \'.  eve 
seated,  taking  his  ^taiul  partial!)'  Ijehind  them,  his 
hand-  resting  gentl\"  on  the  head-  o!  I)oth. 

"  I  mind  I'iic  the  iiicht  1  joined  the  kirk  m\-iT," 
he  i)egan  :  •■  il  was  the  winter  my  mitlier  ;;  ic  I  aw:i, 
an'  I  tlnnl:  <  iod  answered  her  ])ra)er,  to  inak  Iut;!.!': 
af'MC  die  went — but  the  eldeis  a-kit  me  some  •' 
tli.ie  \era  (['.lestions  an'  I  kerit  then  hoo  Lii  tlit  \- 
was  frie  the  -"ul  "  he  -aid  gra\'i'i\  ,  looking  <  ompa-- 
sioiiatcK'  on  the  fan-s  tviw  uptarncd  to  In-  ou'U 
*' Sae    I'm  juist    gaein    to  ask  \e  wliat  1  was  v.id.in" 


Of   SLCH  is    The    KINGDOM        79 

they'd  a.k  frac  mc  Div  ye  no'  love  the  Saviour,  las- 
s.e-and  d.v  yc  no'  ken  He's  the  son  o'  God?"  he 
asked  reverently,  tenderly.  .<  D.,  y,  „,.  ^^^  ^^^^^^ 
I^i>s.e  -an  the  same  u ,'  yirsel'.  my  laddie  P-l'm  sure 
ye  re  ba.th  trustn,'  Jlmi,  to  the  sav.n'  o'  the  soul  • 
arc  ye  no',  bairn.es  ?  "  and  the  old  man's  faee  shone 
as  the  great  truth  kmdled  h.s  own  simple  soul 

Harvey  and  Madeline  nodded  eager  assent,  a  muf- 
fled affirmative  breaking  f,<;m  their  lips 

"An-  ye  ken  the  Sa.crament's  ju.st  the  meetin'- 
pace  where  He  breaks  bread  w.'  His  children,  and 
uhere  they  say.  afore  a'  the  folk,  that  they  love  Him 
a'Ki  trust  Him.  an'  want  to  be  aye  leal  an'  true  till' 
H.m.  and  show  f.,rth  His  death  till  Heeome-div  ye 
no  ken  it  that  way?  -  the  kindly  voice  went  on.  his 
Hands  still  resting  on  the  youthful  heads. 

Harvey   answered    first:     -That's    what    Id    like 
tobe-thafs  what  I  want  to  <lo."  he  said  simply 

••  I  want  to.  too  I'm  the  same  as  Harvey."  Made- 
line  faltered  sweetly. 

Then  (}eordie  Xickle  straightened  himself  and 
turned  towards  Dr.  iqeteher.  ••  Moderato,."  fie 
saul   eanicstly.   "  ue  canna  mak  the  way  mair  open 

-•■the    M.uster   made  it;  an'  1  move  that  these  Iwa 

'-   '-^^-cc    int.l   full  communion,  an'  tiu.,  names- 

the   Cluk   kens    what    they    an    -Ur    ..dded    to    the 

'Oil  o    communicuits   in   good  -fand.n' ,'  the  kirk  " 

"1^    was     carried     without     further     protest    and 

"ideretl   to   be  done   lorthwith. 


6'    i 


IX 


/?     BELATED     ENQUIRER 

TllK  youthlul  candidates  liad  l.ardl>-  left  tlie 
room  when  the  beadle,  compared  with 
uho>e  solemnity  the  ^ravit>'  of  the-  elder- 
was  frivolity  itself,  announceil  that  a  furtlie!  candi- 
date was  111  waiting;. 

"  It's  Mr.  l^orlaiul,  '  he  ^aiil  in  an  awed  w  hisper 
— "Mr.  David  l^irland.  IK  wants  to  jine.  Mi 
Moderator,"  the  beadle  informed  the  court  in  much 
the  same  tone  as  is  employed  when  de.ith  warrants 
must  be  read.  "An"  it'll  be  on  profession,"  he 
i.diled,  unable  to  forego  the  sensational  annoume- 
ment,  "for  he  never  jiiied  no  church  afore."  riicii 
the  beadle  retreated  with  the  mien  that  become,  an 
ecclesiastic.t!  sheriff. 

An  in  t  I  ♦  later  he  reappearetl  •■ith  Mr  Horlaiu!, 
whom  he  left  '>tandiii}T  in  the  very  centre  ol  the 
room.  The  i.-klers  i;a/.etl  wonderin^^'ly  at  the  unex- 
pected man, 

"  I.>inna  break  oot  aL;ain,"    Robert   McC.uj^^    whi- 
pered    to   the    now  tramiuil  Willii',  fcirful  of  aiiotln r 
explovjiin;    "  it'^    no'    often    a    kiik  ^e^sion   ha-  -u  a 
tluty  to   p'Tform,"    and   Willie    responded   l)_\-    risuv.; 
slightly  and  >illui;4  down   liani  upon  the  content    ot 

So 


A    BELATED    ENQUIRER  8, 

his  coat-tail  pocket,  as   thou^-ii   the  fuse  for  the  ex- 
plosi-jii  \\^:i■^^   :ecreted  there. 

David  looked  round  upon  the  elders,  in  no  ui^e 
abashed  ;  he  e^  en  nodded  familiarly  to  two  or  three 
with  whom  he  was  more  intimately  acquainted. 
"  It's  a  fine  evening,"  lie  informed  one  nearest  him, 
to  the  evident  am;>zement  of  his  brethren. 

The  usual  process  began,  one  or  two  undertaking 
preliminary   examination. 

"Have  you  ever  joined  before.  I\Ir.  Borland?" 
one  ol  the  elders  asked  him  .  .'ter  a  little. 

•'  Never  j.)ined  a  church  before— haven't  been 
much  r.f  a  joiner.'  David  answered  cheerfully 
"joined  the  Klks  once  in  the  States  when  I  was  a' 
young  lellow-an'  they  made  it  pretty  interestin' 
for  me.  di.spensing  a  conciliatory  smile  among  the 
startled  elders  as  he  turned  to  catch  another  (,ues 
tion. 

"  What  maks  ye  want  to  join,  Mr.  liorland  ? " 
enquired  ,ne  of  the  new  elders,  hitherto  silent. 
"  UlKits  y,r  motive,  like?  1  lae  ye  got  the  root  u' 
the  matter  ,n  ye.  d,v  ye  think?"  he  elaborated 
formally. 

iJavKl  started  somewhat  violently,  turning  and 
looking  hi.  ,iue..tioncr  full  in  the  face.  ••  Have  I 
Kot  what  in  me?  "  h.  cried--  uhat  kind  of  a  root  ? 
I  hat's  more  than  I  can  say.  sir;  I  don't  catch  your 
mcaniii   " 

1>>.    I'ictcher    interposed.     -  Voure    not    familiar 
u-.th  our  terms.   Mr.   li.rland."  he  said  reassuringlv 
"  Mr.  Aiken  only  uants  to  know  why  you  feci  inV 


82 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


■m  i 

rif     « 

■n  ; 


pellet!  to  become  a  member  of  the  churcli — perhaps 
you  could  answer  the  question  when  its  put  that 
way  ?  " 

David's  first  sign  of  answer  was  to  stoop  and  pick 
up  a  rather  sliapeless  hat  lying  at  his  feet.  This 
symptom  decidedly  alarmed  the  elders,  several  of 
them  sitting  up  suddenly  in  their  chairs  as  though 
fearful  that  so  interesting  a  subject  might  escape, 
liut  David  had  evidently  seized  it  only  foi  -purposes 
of  reflection,  turning  it  round  and  round  in  his  hands, 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor. 

"  It  was  a  queer  kind  of  a  reason,"  he  began  ab- 
ruptly, clearing  his  throat  with  all  the  resonance  of 
a  trumpet—"  but  mebbc  it  ain't  too  bad  a  one  after 
all.  It  was  Madeline,"  he  finally  blurted  out,  star- 
ing at  all  the  brethren  in  turn.  "  1  knew  she  was 
goin'  to  join— an' — an'  I  wanted  to  keep  up  with 
her.  If  she's  agoin'  to  heaven,  I'm  agoin'  too — an' 
I  reckon  this  here's  the  way,"  he  added,  feeling  that 
tlic  phraseology  wa.s  not  too  ill-tmied.  Then  he 
wailed. 

"  Very  good,  Mr.  Hurland — very  good,"  the  Mod- 
erator    pronounced     encouragingl)-.     "Hut    about-  - 

about  }-(jur  own  ^oul.     I'm  suie  we  all  hope  jou 

you — realize  y  nir  need,  Mr.  Borland.  It's  a  sense 
ot  sin  wc  all  M(  cil,  you  know.  I'm  sure  you  feel 
you've  been  a  inner,  Mr.  Horland  ?  "  am!  the  good 
mail  turned  the  most  brotherly  of  faces  uptju  the 
applicant. 

"  (  Ml,  yes,"  res[)onded  David  agreeably  ;  "  oh,  yes, 
I'm    all    right   that  way — I've   been   quite  a   sinner. 


« 

I 


A    Li  ELATED    ENQUIRER  Sj5 


i  ! 


all  right.  The  only  thinfj  I'm  afcart  of  is  I've  been 
'mo.-.t  too  good  a  sinner.  1  \vi->lu  I  wasn't  quite  so 
handy  at  it,"  he  went  on  i^ravely.  "  1  reekun  I've 
been  about  a.^  bail  as — as  aii)-  oi  the  deacons  h.ere," 
glancing  towards  the  open  nioulhed  about  hini  as  iie 
made  the  cuni[)arisoii,  "  an'  ^onie  o'  them's  got  quite 
a  record,  if  all  report.,  is  true.  1  traded  hor.^cs  uw:. 
with  Robert  there,"  nodding  familiarly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Mr.  McCaig,  an'  the  first  time  we  traded,  he 
sinned  pretty  bad — but  tliat">  nothin'  ;  bygones  is 
bygoiii.-s — an'  anyhow,  the  second  time  we  traiLvi, 
I  sinned  pretty  bad  myself.  So  I'm  all  right  that 
way.  Doctei,"  ho  again  assuretl  the  Mi.'derator, 
making  a  last  desperate  effort  to  tie  his  hat  into  a 
knot. 

"  I  ditln.i  ken  the  mare  was  spavined,  Moderator," 
Mr.  Mc(.aig  broke  in,  gapping  with  emotion  ;  ••  an'  a 
nieetin'  o'  session's  no  place  for  discussin'  sic  like 
matters  onywaj,  '  he  api)ealed  vehementl)-.  "  Thae 
week-day  things  has  wac  richt  to  be  mentioned  here 
— a  meetin'  o'  elilers  is  no'  a  cattle  fair,"  and  Robert 
looked  well  pleased  with  this  final  stroke. 

"  riiai's  all  right,  Robert,  that's  all  right,"  David 
returned  in  his  most  amiable  tiMie  ;  "don't  get  ex- 
cited, Rn)ert — we  both  traded  with  our  e)  es  open. 
An'  all  these  things  m.ikes  life,  anyhow— they  ail  go 
to  the  wcavin'  of  the  web,  as  I  say  sometimes,  an' 
besides " 

Hut  Robert's  blood  was  up. 

"  Onyiunv,  I  didna  swear,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  n.ing 
tone;  "I   diilna  say  tl.min.   Mr.  .Miiderat*  r — an'  the 


»4 


■THE    IVEB    Or     TIME 


!l 


II- 


liorse-doctor  tellt  mc  as  hosx  t!ic  candidate  aC.rc  u. 
said  damn  mair  nor  aince  u'lcn  he  luund  cot  aboot 
the  spavin,  lied  m.ik-  a  bunnie  member  o'  the 
k.rk!"  and  the  elder',  face  giuued  w.th  ni^hteous 
indignation. 

The  Moderator  cast  about  t,.  avert  ti.c  .torm 
•'Maybe  he  uas  taken  urauare^."  he  interposed 
charitably;  ■•  au)-  one  m\^\M  be  overtaken  in  a  lault 
Did  you,  Mr.  Borland-dul  )-.,u  .ay  vhat  Mr.  McLaii^ 
says  you  did?  •  as  he  turned  a  very  kindu  ,ace  on 
the  accused. 

David  uas  more  intently  employed  than  e\er  u  il!i 
his  hat.  "I  won't  sa>-  but  what  I  mebbc  J.id."  he 
acknowledged,  an  unfamiliar  c  .nfusion  in  .,,,  words. 
"  \ou  see.  sir,  I  should  a  knoued  a  spavin  when  I 
^een  it;  the  signs  is  awful  easy  told— an'  thaf^  v. hat 
made  me  mad.  So  I  said  1  was  a  fod-an'  I  .aid 
Robert  here  was  an  elder.  An'  I  likely  said  both  of 
us  was—was  that  kind  of  a  fool  an'  an  elder,  the  kind 
lie  says  I  .said— it's  an  awful  handy  describin'  word." 
lie  added,  nodding  re.-^pectfully  towards  the  .Modera- 
tor's chair. 

"S..  I  have  heard,  Mr.  Borland."  1h:  M.^ierator 
replied,  smiling  reproachfully  ncvertheie.^s.  »  thou-h 
1  tliink  there  are  others  just  as  good.  However  If 
that  IS  the  worst  sin  you've  been  guilty  of.  I  wouldn't 
>ay  you're  beyond  the  pale." 

"  Oh.  tliore's  lots  of  things  I've  done,  far  worse 
th  ui  that."  David  exclaimed  vigorously.  ••  I  don't 
allow  that's  a  sin  at  all_-i,at's  just  a  kind  of  a  spark 
out   o    the   chimney      I    reckon   nearly   everj-body. 


W    BELATED    ENQUIRER 


s; 


even  nuni.tcrs,  says  that— only  they  don't  spell  it 
ju>t  tile  .r.nio.  Id  call  that  ju.t  a  kind  of  splutter— 
an'  everybody  s;  'utters  sometimes.  K(.bert  there, 
he  ^.tys  <  ly.e^s  my  soul '  xvhcn  he  gets  beat  ...n  a 
trade— but  Ik  means  just  the  same  as  me.  Oh,  \  es," 
he  went  heerfull\-  on,  •>  tlieres  lots  u  worse  thinj^ 
than  that  a-ainst  me.  1  here's  l-.ts  o'  little  weak 
spots  ab.nit  me;  an'  I'll  tell  them  if  you  like— if  the 
deacons'll  do  the  same,"  he  proposed,  luokln.^'  ear- 
nestly arn'.iul  for  volunteer.-,. 

There  wa.  no  cL^tnour  of  response,  and  it  fell  to 
Geordie  Xickle  a^-aiii  to  break  the  silence. 

"Ihoj  i:.  ii,y  lie  main  things,  David,"  he  be-an 
solemn!)-.  '•  lell  as.  div  yc  trust  the  Saviour  wr"'Mr 
soul?" 

David   halted,  the  ._  ravity  of  the  question  shading 
\n>  lace.     •■     think-I  think  1  do,'  jk-  ventured  aftcT 
a  l"Mg  pau    .:.     "I  wouldn't  tru-t  it  f,   no  one  el.e 
My  mother  taught  me  that." 

"An'  div  ye  want  to  follow  Dim,  an'  to  let  yii 
hcht  ^hiiu-  upon  the  world'  Div  ve  want  to  bj  a 
guid  sold.vr  an'  wuil  ye  tr\-  it,  wi'  II,.  graee  ?  "  the 
o!.!  mm  a-ke  1  tendeil)-. 

Dav,,]^  -..Mce  wa-.  very  low.  •■  I',,,  ,„,t  verv  in  ..n 
tlic  road."  he  ^aul  lalt.aingly.  •'.,)'  I'm  ntearJd  tiioe 
ain  t  much  li-lu  ,n  nu— b  ,t  I'd  try  an'  do  mv  be>t." 
he  conci  1  icd  eariK-tl\-. 

'I  he  \cMerah!e  elder  proceeded  u  ith  his  gentle  art, 
loading  the  belated!  eniiuircr  on  from  ^tage  to  stai-e,' 
seeking  t:.  discovu-  and  di>clo~e  the  hidden  treasure- 
<-■  tac  -    til.      IL-  wa-  iK\er  ^low  to  be  convinced  of 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION    TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^    >1PPLIED  IM/1GE 


'653   Eost   Mam   Slrsel 

RochMler,    New   York         14609       USA 

(716)    482  -0300 -Phone 

(716)   288  -  5989  -  Fa, 


86 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


n 


1 

li 

1  I 

f 

i 

1   \ 
1     * 

goodness  in  any  heart  that  he  thought  sincere,  and 
It  was  not  long  till  he  turned  to  the  Moderator, 'pro- 
posing, as  before,  that  this  new  name  should  likewise 
be  enrolled  among  those  of  the  faithful. 

But  one  or  two  thought  the  examination  hardly 
doctrinal  enough,  nor  carried  sufficiently  far  afield 

"  Perhaps    Mr.  Borland  would  give  us  a  word  or 
tuo  regarding  his  views  on  the  subject  of  temper- 
ance," suggested  Morris  Hall.     He  was  a  compara- 
tively modern  elder  ;  in  fact,  he  had  been  but  recently 
reclaimed,  one  of  the  first-fruits  of  a  spring  re  nal 
himself  snatched   from   the   vortex  of  intemperance' 
and  correspondingly  severe  upon  all  successors  in  his 
folly.     For  largeness  of  charity,  as  a  rule,  is  to  be  found 
only  with  those  who  have  been  tempted  and  prevailed. 
"  I'm  not  terrible  well  up  on  temperance,"  David 
began  placidly  ;  <•  but    I  don't  mind  givin'  you   my 
views— oh,  no,  not  at  all." 

^   Then  he  sank  into  silence,  and  the  Moderator  had 
(inally  to  prompt  him.     "  Very  well,  then,  Mr.  Bor- 
land, give  us  your  views  on  the  subject." 
^  "  Well,"  David  began  hesitatingly.  "  m\-  \  icws  on 
file  subject  of  temperance  is  terrible  simple.      I  ivally 
I'ardly  e\cr  take  anything— never  touch   it  at  all  ex- 
cept it's  before  or  after  meals,"  he  as.sured  the  hreth- 
i^-n  earnestly,  the  younger  men  frowning  a  little  <ne 
'"•  tu-o  of  the  older  nodding  approving];-.     H„t  none 
seemed  to  remark  how  generous  uas  the  mar-Mu  this 
time-table  provided  for  a  man  of  moist  propensities 

"Sometimes,  when   I  run  acrost  an   old   friend,  if 
he  looks  kind  o-  petered  out,"  David  went  on  -^)-m- 


A    BELATED    ENQUIRER  87 

patheticallv',  "  sometimes  then  I  have  a  view  or  two- 
most  a!wa)-.s  soft  stuff,  though,"  he  enlarged,  looking 
hopefully  towards  his  spiritual  betters  ;  "  most  gen'^ 
erally  they  takes  the  same  view  a,  m..,"  he  informed 
them  gravely;  "  my  view  is  to  t.ike  it  an'  let  it  alone 
—I  do  both— only  I  never   lo  'heir,  both  at  the  same 
time,"  he  added  seriously.    "  Vou  see,  when  I'm  wvW 
it  doesn't  hurt  me,  and  wlien   I'm  sick— why,  mebbc 
I  need  somethin".    That's  one  (/  my  view\s.    An',  (.h, 
yes  "—he  hurried  on  as  if  glad  that  he  had  not  for- 
gotten, "  I   always  take  a  little  when  a  new  century- 
comes  in— I  took  a  little  when  the  clock  struck  1900  ; 
it's  been   a  custom  for  quite  awhile  in  our  famil\-, 
always  to  take  a  little  when  a  new  century  comes  in 
— a   man   lias  to   be  careful  it  doesn't  grow  on  him, 
you  see.     So  I  confme  it  pretty  much  to  them  two 
occasions.     An'  I  think  them's  pretty  much  all  my 
views,   gentlemen,   on    the   subject    o'  liquors.     The 
less   views  a  man  has  on  them,  the  better.     It's  the 
worst  plague  there  is— an'  I'm  gettin'  more  set  agin' 
it  all  the  time,"  and   David   nodded  to  the  elders  in 
quite  an  admonitory  way. 

But  these  views,  simple  and  candid  tliough  they 
were,  were  far  from  satisfactory  to  Mr.  Morris  Hall 
who  violently  declaimed  against  such  laxity  and 
quoted  statistics  concerning  poorhouses,  jails  and 
lunatic  asylums  in  much  the  same  tone,  and  with  the 
same  facility,  that  a  boy  exhibits  when  quoting  the 
mulliplication  table.  Mr.  Hall  concluded  with  an 
appeal  to  David's  sense  of  shame. 

This   was   rather  much  for  the  gentle  candidate, 


88 


I 


V    t 


3     I 


I 


H 


1 
if 
If 

t 


T-Zyf    IVEB    Of    TIME 


famiHar  as   he  was  witli  the  impeachcrs    record  ,„ 
tlays  taut  were  yet  hardly  dry. 

"  :ri^^-rc  s  one  thing  sure,  anyhow,"  he  returned  hotly 
.n  h,s  n.t.ns,ty  of  feeling.  •■  I  ,.Un  t  never  have  to  be' 
toted  home  on  astoae-boat-that's  one  thing  certain  " 
h>s  was  a  reference  to  authentic  history  of  no  ancant 
-.  ,  and  Mr.  Hall's  relapse  to  silence  was  as  nnal  as 
It  was  precipitate. 

Whereupon  Geordie  Nickle  again  reverted  to  Ins 
motion  that  Mr.  Borland  be  received.  He  brielly 
reviewed  the  case,  emphasizing  the  obvious  simplicily 
and  candour  that  had  been  remarked  by  all.  while  ad- 
mitting David  s  evident  unfamiliarity  with  the  formulas 
and  doctrines  of  the  church. 

"  But  there-.s  mony  a  man  loves  flowers  wha  d.sna 
ken  naethin  aboot  botany,"  he  pleaded  ;  "pn'  there's 
mony  a  soul  luvin'  Christ,  an'  trustin'  till  Him,  wha 
kens  little  or  naethin"  aboot  theology." 

This  view  seemed  to  prevail  with'the  majorit)-,  and 
the  proposal  of  the  kindly  elder  would  doubtless  have 
been  speedily  endorsed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  pro- 
test from  David  himsell.     -.  I'm  terrible  thankful  for 
your  kindness  to  a  lame  duck  like  me-but  I  believe 
I  tl  jest  as  soon  wait  awhile,"  he  said.     "  Ml  try  an' 
'"How  up  the  best  I  can.     Ik.t  Dick  Phin's  comiV  to 
Visit  me  next   week-Dick's  an  old  crony  I  haven't 
-^een  for  a  dog's  age.     An'  besides,  Robert  there  has 
kmd  o  set  me  thinkin' ;  an'  I  jest  minded  Ton^.  Tay- 
lor s  comin'  on   Monday  to  cry  an'  trade   back  the 
thrc-e-year-old  1,..  got  in  August.     So  I  think  mebbe 
1  d  bettei  wait.     Hut  I'll  follow  up  tlie  bc-t  I  cm  " 


X 

SHELTERING    S  H  A  D  O  IV  S 

TWO  chestnut  steeds,  securely  tied,  looked 
reproachfully  at  the   rctreatins    figure^    as 

^^^^^'^'"^^  ^^"^n)er  father  pressed  on  beneath 
the  shadow  ot  the  great  .aks  that  looked  down  upon 
t'--    merry    picnickers.      J.'or    Glenallen's     Sunday- 
.^chool  scholars  were  .;.  /.V,   beneath  them.     xL 
gladly  did  these  nnghty  guardians  of  the  grove  ^eem 
to  welcome  back  the  happy  throng  as  each  returning 
summer  brought  the  festal  day.     And  very  tenderlC 
did  they  seem  to  look  down  upon  the  varied  pleasure- 
seekers    that    gathered     beneath    their    whi.pcrin^ 
branches:  children,  in  all  the   helplessness  of  chdd^ 
"-'■^^ .   mingling  with   other  toddlers  whose  was  the 
helplessness  of  age-little  tots  whose  toilsome  jour- 
ney was  at    hand,  and  patriarchs  whose  wearv-  pil- 
^n mage  was  almost  past.     Many  were  there  ^lie 
'^^thers    fathers,   snatching  a   bnef  truce  f,om   their 
■  tru,-le   with   the  poverty  and   stres.  of  earh-  da^•s 
i'au  rested  a.id  rollicked  as  onl)-  p.oneers  kno^  how  • 
>na.^ters  and   men.  their        -xTtue   ranks   f<,rgntten' 
had  sat  sKe  by  side  abo.  aie  teeming  board.'or  en- 
tered the  hsts  together  as   they  (lung  the   bounding 
caber  or  raced  across  the  meado^v-sward.  or  heaved 
he  gleaming  quoits,  or  strained  the  creaking   cable 
m  the  final  and  glorious  tug  of  war. 

89 


90 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


%u 


M 


i 


As  David  Borland  and  his  dau-hter  drew  near  to 
the  central  group  of  picnickers,  they  found  them  em- 
plo>-ed  in  a  very  savoury  task.  They  were  enipt\-- 
mg  the  baskets  one  by  one,  the  good  things  trans- 
lated promiscuously  to  the  ample  table  around  wliich 
all  were  about  to  take  their  places.  Pies  of  ev<  r)- 
sort  there  were,  cakes  of  ever>-  imaginable  brand  and 
niagnilude,  sandwiches,  fruits,  pickles,  hams  that 
would  waddle,  fowls  that  would  cackle,  tongues  that 
would  join  the  lowing  choir,  nevermore— all  these 
coiHpired  to  swell  the  overnowing  larder. 

Suddenly  David's  ej-es  fell  on  a  face  in  the  dis- 
tance, a  tace  for  which  he  had  long  luid  a  peculiar 
hking.  It  was  Geordie  Nickles.  the  old  man  sitting 
apart  on  a  little  mound,  his  kindly  i:yc^  bright  with 
glad.icss  at  the  lively  scene  around  him. 

"  Vou  go  off  an'  have  a  swing.  Aladeline,"  he  said  ; 
"  I'm  goin'  to  have  a  chat  with  my  friend  Geordie 
hero — I'll  see  you  in  a  little  while." 

Madeline  scarcely  heard  him  nor  did  any  response 
escape  her  lips.  For  other  words  had  fallen  on  her 
ears,  hot  and  tingling  now  with  shame  and  indig- 
nation. 

"  Isn't  this  the  limit."  a  jibing  voice  was  saying  ; 
"  isn't  this  the  human  limit .?— rhubarb  tarts  !  Three 
of  tliem  !  Who  wants  to  buy  a  tin  plate  ?  "  the  voice 
went  jeeringly  on.  It  was  Cecil  Craig's  voice,  and  lie 
held  the  humble  contributions  aloft  as  he  spoke. 
"  There  must  be  some  awful  rich  folks  here  to-day— 
I  guess  these  tarts  are  meant  for  the  minister.  That's 
all  there  is  in  the  basket— so  I  guess  some  one  must 


SHELTERING    SHADOIVS  9, 

keep  a  rhubarb  farm;  look  at  the  ^\zo  of  them-b,£z 
as  a  lull  moon!  I  behove  111  g.vc  them  to  my 
horse,  he  cried  with  a  contemptuous  laugh  '•  Hue 
you  any  ,dea  who  sent  tlic.c.  Harvey  ? "  tur.nn- 
uith  the  question  to  the  conscious  boy  who  stood  on 
the  outer  edge  of  the  circle. 

A  fevv  joined  in  thoughtless  laughter.  15ut  it  was 
no  aughing  matter  for  poor  Harvey,  trying  nou-  to 
•steal  alone  and  unnoticed  from  among  the  throng 
Vet  not  alone;  for  one  humble  little  form  clun^ 
close  beside  him,  retreating  as  rapidly  as  he.  her  face 
Hushed  and  drawn.  They  liad  taken  but  a  ic^.  steps 
vJien  Jess.es  hand  stole  caressingly  into  her 
brothers,  the  httle  legs  trying  eagerly  to  keep  pace 
with  his  ardent  stride.  ^ 

•<  Don't  m,nd  Ilarvey,  don't  mind."  she  said 
soo  hingly.  ..  He's  just  as  mean  as  he  can  be.  It's 
all  because  he's  rich-an'  he  thinks  we're  poor  He 
doesn  t  knou'  how  good  mother  is  at  makin'  tarts,  or 
iic  wouldn  t  talk  like  that." 

Harvey  glanced  at  his  sister  as  though  he  scarcely 

^av^■  her.     His  e>'es.  usually  so  mild,  were  now  almost 

crnble   in   the.r   fiery  anger,  and  Iiis  hand  closed  so 

U^lUly  over  his  sister's  that  she  cried  out  in  pain. 

Once  he  looked  swiftly  back  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 

Leal    leenng   at   him    in   the   distance;  he   fi.xed  his 

teeth  tight  together  and  strode  swifth-  on 

a  ;' ;^''"^^>-'^;;^'-"'ba-'<.  Harvey?"  Jessie  encj.ired 
a  httle  wi.tfully.  ..  IV.  real  hungry.  HarvevJan'  I 
--  chickens  there,  an'  there  was  some  peaches  too 
-they  looked  awful  nice."  she  said  earnestly. 


-■iK-v 


i 


92 


THE    H^'EB    OF    TIME 


m    I 


!i  i 


II 


"  Going,  back  !  "  Harvey  almost  shouted.  "  No 
you  bet  I'm  not  going  back-and  neither  are  y„u  ' 
I  d  starve  before  Td  touch  a  bn  .•  of  their  stuff  -\" 
lot  of  stuck-up  things.'-  he  cried  passionately,  "  and 
you  and  me  cast  out  everywhere  because  were 
poor!  I'll  show  them  >et_you  just  see  if  I  don't  • 
If  I  can  get  half  a  chance-and  to  think  the  way  poor 
mother  worked  at  them,  and   she  thought  she  was 

making  something  real  nice  too,  and " 

"An'  she  put  sugar  in  them  too,  Harvey-an'  ^he 
hardly  ever  puts  sugar  in  anj-thing  now.  She  put 
lots  ot  butter  an'  sugar  in.  for  I  saw  her.  But  ain't 
you  goin'  back,  Harvey  ?-there's  lemonade,  .-ou 
know,  a  whole  boiler  full  of  it.  I  tasted  it  and  it  was 
lovely.  •  she  assured  him.  looking  wi..tfully  up  into 
the  angry  face. 

"The  young  whelp!"  Harvey  muttered  wrath- 
fully ;  ..  hasn't  any  more  brains  than  a  hands])ike- 
hasn  t  got  anything  but  a  rich,  proud  father— MI  fix 
him  yet,  you  sec  if  I  don't."  Suddenly  he  stopped 
standing  still  as  the  trees  around  him.  -  Hello  !  "  he 
said  musingly,  then  began  whistling  significantly 

"  \\-hat's  the  matter,  Harvey  ?  "  asked  the  mystified 
Jessie. 

"  0^i-"«thing._nothing  at  all.  In  fact,  everything', 
all  right-see  that  sorrel  horse  tied  to  that  hemlcick 
over  tliere  ?     It's  Cecil  Craig's." 

"  Ves,"  replied  Jessie  wonderingly;  "it's  kickin' 
with  It-  legs."  she  added  informativeh'— <-  what's  it 
doin   that  for,  Harvey?" 

"Flic>,"    replied    the    other    absently.      "I    say, 


SHELTERING    S  H  A  D  O  IV  S  y, 

Jessie."  ho  began  in  quite  a  different  tone,  Ins  brow 
clcanng  hke  a  headland  when  the  fog  .  hft.n.v  vou 
bcttergo  on  back  and  get  your  d,nner-dunt  eat'too 
much,  he  added  cautiously,  for  Jess.e.  her  hand  ,till 
^^  m  his.  had  already  turned  right  about  face,  her 
adiant  gaze  fixed  on  the  distant  tables;  ••  and  vou 
know  mother  doesn't  want  you  to  take  anv  stuffin  _ 
you  H  have  to  take  castor  oil  h"  you  eat  ^.ny  ^tuffin". 

"  Won't  you  go,  Harvey  ?  "  his  sister  asked  eagerly 
supremely  indifferent  to  matters  medicinal;  sh'e  was' 

read>   pressing  onward,  half  leading  her  brother  by 
me    hand      The    boy  started  to  refuse   vigorouslv- 
suddenly,  however,  he  seemed  to  changed  mind. 

I  li  go  back   with  you  for  a  minute.  Jessie—ust  a 
-nute       i„d.     Ill  get  you  a  seat  if  I  can;  but  in 

^v:::^^--^^^-  ivegot-rvegot 

The  hungry  Jessie  asked  no  further  information, 
ucll  content,  poor  child,  to  regain  the  treat  she  had 
>o   nearly  lost.     Her   hur  ^^  r.  *    ■   ,,       "- "'^^ 

sun  as  she  led  the  -v"v   F  , '         "^''  '"  '''' 

t-intlv  hn.l  .    .1      ^'  ■•  ''"''""S.  half  reluc- 

antly.  back  to  he  appeti.i  ..     The  boy  looked 

t   no   one  as  he   mingled   with  the  excited  throng ; 
odd  many  remark  his  return,  so  all  absorbed  a^e 

.i    lead^  ;t  V'  P^""'^  ^^''°'-^  -^-"  that  pur- 
VI      It         \\  ^'""-t^ble.     This  pleased  Harvey 
^^  ell .  and.  confident  of  their  indifference,  he  took  his 
Pace^^^e^^^^^ 

text  tor  Lecils  scorn. 

Good  Dr.  Fletcher's  special  care,  at  such  a  fete  as 


\  ill 
i  *i  f 

Pi 


94 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


this,  was  to  see  tliat  all  heads  were  reverently  bowed 
while  ^race  was  beint;  said.  Ami  so  the)-  were  on 
this  occasion,  all  but  Harvey's.  Availing  hitn.self  of 
the  opportune  devotion,  he  thrust  the  rnuffendin"; 
tart>  rouijhly  within  tlie  shelter  of  hi.-,  co.it.  buttoning 
it  ti;4htly  over  them,  quite  careless  of  results.  Then, 
wild  chaos  and  savaije  attack  succeedinj^  the  reverent 
calm,  while  his  ravenous  companions  fell  u])on  the 
viands  like  starvinj;  animals,  he  quietly  withdrew, 
holding  his  coat  careful!)'  about  him  a^  he  went. 


i'ii    •! 


i\.  -'-{ 


i 


David  Borland  and  the  venerable  Gcordie  Xi.'.le 
were  deej)  i-  con\crsation  as  Harvc}-  pas.-^t J  tl.em  1)\- 
at  a  little  di-.tance,  finding  his  wa}-  back  to  the  outer 
fringe  of  woods. 

"  Von's  an  uncommon  laddie,"  Gc' irdie  remarked 
to  David,  hi.T  staff  pointed  in  the  directi<  a  of  the  dis- 
appearing boy. 

"Who?  Oh,  yes — that's  Harvey.  You're  right, 
Mr.  Xicklc  ;  the  grass  doesn't  grow  very  green  under 
Harvey's  feet.  He  vorks  for  me,  you  know — does  a 
little  driviii'  between  four  and  si.x." 

"  Did  ye  hear  aboot  the  minister,  David  ?  He  was 
sair  \exed  wi'  Mr.  Craig  ,  he  went  till  him,  ye  ken, 
to  get  a  wee  bit  help  for  the  laddie's  niither — her  eye- 
sicht's  fiiilin',  it  seems.  An'  Mr.  Craig  v»  udna  gie 
him  onythin'." 

David  was  busj'  kicking  to  pieces  a  slab  of  dead 
wood  at  his  feet.  "  That  man  Craig  makes  me  mad," 
he  said  w.iimly — "  thinks  he  owns  the  earth  'cause 
he's  got  a  little  money.      He  got  the  most  of  it  from 


'^""^"^kmrni^m^mm'^mL 


SHELTERING    SHADOW:^  9s 

his  father,  anyhow_hc  hasnt  ^oi  bra.n.  enough 
himself  to  make  lus  head  ache.  An'  it  looks  Hkc  the 
young  cub's  goin'  to  be  a  chip  o'  the  old  bl-^k  ;  you 
can  see  it  stickin'  right  out  of  him  nou."  he  declared 
nodding  towards  the  blustering  Cecil,  uho  was  rtinging 
his  orders  !iere  and  there. 

"  I  was  thinkin'  ower  the  maitter,  David,"  the  old 
man  went  on  quietly  ;  •■  I  uas  thinkin'  niebbe  I  micht 
gie  the  puir  budd)-  a  wee  bit  help  myser—I  hae  a  wee 
bit  siller,  ye  ken.  an'  I  haena  vera  muckle  to  dae  wi't 
Ihv  yc  think   ye   cud  see  aboot   it.  David  ?-aboo^ 
send.n'  his  m.ther  till  the  city  doctor,  ye  ken  ?     I  cud 
gie  the  money  to  yirsci',  an'  naebody  i.eed  ken  aboot 
•t  but  us  twa."     Poor  Geordie  looked  half  ashamed 
as   he    made    the  offer ;  such    is  the   fashion  of  liis 
kind. 

"It's  i<Thty  clever  of  you,"  David  answered 
smihng  a  hale  curiously,  "  and  I'd  be  terrible  glad  to 
fix  It  for  you-only  I  happen  to  know  it's  fixed  al- 
ready. Just  found  that  out  to-day.  A  fc '  v  sent 
the  money  to  them-some  fellow  that  do.  .  t  want 
any  one  to  know.  But  it's  just  as  good  of  you,  all 
the  same,  Mr.  Nickle." 

"Oh,  aye,  aye,  I  ken,"  Geordie  responded  enigmat- 
ically, "  a\c— juist  that." 

"  Yes,  he's  a  mighty  smart  bo>-."  Davu'  resumed 
quickly,  to  hide  a  little  embarrassment.  ■■  He  wor  . 
like  a  beaver  all  day ;  steady  as  a  clock  and  bright  as 
a  dollar.  Its  a  darned  shame  he  hasn't  got  a  better 
chance-that  boy'd  be  heard  from  vet  if  h.  -ot  come 
eddication,"  he  concluded,  opening  the  big'bladc  of 


96 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


his  jack-knife  and  beginning  operations  on  a  leal\ 
limb  he  had  just  broken  off. 

Geordie's  face  was  full  of  sympathetic  interest 
"  Div  ye  ken,  David,  I've  been  thinkin'  the  same 
aboot  the  laddie.  Dr.  Fletcher  tellt  mc  aboot  him 
first-m'  I've  been  enquirin',  an'  watchin'  him  a  wee 
bit  in  a  can  .y  kind  o'  a  way,  since  the  nicht  he  jined 
the  kirk.  An'  I've  got  a  wee  bit  plan,  David— I've 
got  a  wee  bit  plan." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Nickle?"  David  responded  encourag- 
ingly, throwing  away  the  leafy  limb  and  sitting 
squarely  round. 

"  It's  no'  quite  a  fittin'  time  to  mak  ony  promises  " 
the  cautious  Scotchman  went  on,  seeing  that  David 
expected  him  to  continue.  "  But  ye  ken,  David  I 
hae  neither  wifp  nor  bairns  noo  ;  they're  a'  wi'  God  " 
he  added,  bowing  reverently,  -<  an'  yon  iaddie  kind 
o  minds  me  o'  wee  Airchie— Airchie  died  wi'  th- 
scarlet  fever.  An'  I've  been  thinkin',  David,  I've 
been  thinkin'  I  never  spent  the  siller  that  wud  hae 
gone  for  Airchie's  schoolin'.  Ve  ken,  David,  div  ye 
no'  ?  " 

David  knew  not  how  to  answer.  But  his  heart 
was  more  nimble  than  his  lips.  "  I  was  awful  sorrj 
when  you  lost  your  little  boy,"  he  said,  his  eyes  upon 
the  ground;  "I  never  had  a  son  myself- -so  you're 
better  off  nor  me." 


■  --tft-'o  -  '.  Vjr,  .  ' ST.- -^^■H^^'U 


XI 

FOOD    FOR     THOUGHT 

OXK   pa.r    of   eye.    at    least,   liad    uatced 
Jiarvcys   unostentatious   retreat    from    the 
clamorous   thron-   about    the   table.     And 
no  sooner  had   Madeluic  noted   his  departure  than 
she  quietly  slipped  into  the  vacant  place  beside  h.s 
sister,   who  welcomed  her  with  a  smile  as  generous 
as    the    absorbing    intensity    of  the    moment  would 
permit.     .Madelines   cheeks   were  still  rosy  wit!)  the 
flush   o\  angry   resentment  that  Cecil's  cruel  word. 
had   started.     Twice  had  he  taken  his  place  beside 
her  at   the  table,  and  twice  she  had  moved  awav  ■ 
even   now  his   eyes   seemed    to    follow  her,   castin^ 
conciliatory  glances  that  found  no  response 

The  picnic  teast  was  finally  concluded-but  not 
t.  1  sheer  physical  inability  proclaimed  a  truce-and 
Madeline  and  Jessie  withdrew  together 

snl^i'.^"  ^"'"'"  ■"'•^  t'^*-^  ff^'lly.  Jessie."  Madeline 
suggests  pointing  towards  a  slight  ravine  a  little 
way  in  the  distance ;  .<  I  think  we'd  find  flowers 
there,  perhaps. 

Jessie  was  agreed.  •.  15ut  I  wish  Harvey  would 
come,_  she  said;  -I  nonder  where  he  is_he  went 
away  just  when  we  began  our  dinner." 

97 


i 


WW 


98 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


I 


"  Oh,  he's  all  right,"  replied  the  older  girl.  "  I 
saw  him  going  away— he'll  be  back  in  a  little." 

"An'  I  didn't  see— I  didn't  see  the  rhubarb 
tarts  mother  made,"  Jessie  continued,  her  mnid 
still  busy  with  the  missing.  •<  You  don't  suppose 
Cecil  Craig  threw  them  away,  do  you  ?  "  she  asked, 
suddenly  fearful ;  "  he's  so  mean." 

"  Don't  let's  speak   about   him   at   all,"    Madeline 
interrupted.     -  The  tarts  are  all  right,"  s'  c  went  on 
consolingly.     "  I  saw  one  boy  very—very  busj-  with 
them,"  she  concluded  dexterously.     ••  Iksides,"  she 
added,   the  connection  not  so  obviuu.-^   as  her  tone 
would    indicate,    "  I've    got    something    to    say   to 
you,  Jessie— sit  down;    sit  down   beside  mc  here." 
Je-ssie  obeyed  and  they  sank  together  on  a  mossy 
mound,  a  few  stately  oaks  and  maples    whispering 
welcome ;    for  they   were  jealous   trees,  and  had  be- 
grudged the  central  grove  its  throng  of  happ\-  chil- 
dren, the  merry  scene  just  visible  from  their  ti'innost 
boughs. 

"  I've  got  awful  good  news  for  you,  Jessie,"  Made- 
line began  ardently,  after  a  momentar)-  strupt;le  as 
to  how  she  should   introduce  the  subject. 

"  What's  it  about  ?  "  Jessie  asked,  lier  c}-es  open- 
ing wide. 

"  It's  about  your  mother,"  answered  Madeline. 

Jessie  looked  gravely  at  the  other. 

"Anything  about  the  tarts?"  she  enquired 
earnestly,  her  mind  still  absorbed  with'  the 
tragcd>-. 

"  Xo,  no— of  course   it's  not  about  anything  like 


rn^'i 


FOOD    For     THOUGHT  99 

that.     It's  about  her  cj-cs-rni  pretty  sure  tliey're 
going  to  get  well." 

Jessie's    own     were     dancing.     "Who    said    so? 
Why?     Tell  me  quick." 

"  Well,   1    know   all   about  everything,"  Madeline 
rephedjmportantly.     "I    know  about  you   wanting 
to  take   her  to    the  doctor  in   the    city— and    she's 
going  to  go,"  she  affirmed  conclusively. 
"  W  hen  ?  "  Jessie  demanded  swiftly. 
"Any  time— to-mornnv,   if  you 'like,"    .Madeline 
returned  triumphantly,  \vithdrawing  her  hand  Iroiu 
her  bosom  and  thrusting  the  crisp  notes  into  JessieV  ; 
"  my  lather  gave  me  all  that  money  to-day— and  it's 
to    pay    the    doctor— it's    to     pay    everything,"    she 
amended    jubilantly.      -Only    father    doesn't    want 
any  one    to  know  who  did  it— when   do  3'ou   think 
she'll   go,  Jessie?"  she  asked,    a    little    irrelevant])-, 
for  mat:cr..  had  taken  a  rather  unexpected  turn. 
^  Je.sie  was  staring  at  her  through  swimming  eyes, 
t!ie   import   of  the  great  moment  too  much 'for  her 
chiKh.h  soul.     Her  mother's  face  passed  before  her, 
bcautilul   m   its  tender  patience,  and  all  the  pathos 
ot  the  long  struggle,  so  nearly  over  now,  broke  upon 
the   hu!c   mind   that   knew    not  what  pathos  meant 
e.xcept   by  the  slow  tuition  of  a  sorrow-clouded  lile 
I'oor  child,  she   little   knew   by   what  relentless  limi- 
tations even  great  city  doctors  may  be  bound. 

"Is  it  because  you're  glad,  Jessie?"  Madeline 
enquired  in  a  reverent  sort  of  voice,  dimlv  diagnos- 
ing the  paradox  of  human  joy.  Ikit  Jessie  an- 
swered never  a  word  ,  her  gaze  was  fixed  downward 


;h 


nn 


lOO 


■THE    [VEB    OF    TIME 


\'v 


hi' 


nou-   upon   tlic  money,  such   a  .^um  of  it  as  she  had 
never  seen  belore  in  her  poor  nicaj;re  htc.     And  the 
bi.t;  tears   tell   on    the    unconscious    thinj^s    lyin'^-    in 
her   lap,  the  i)oor  dead  symbolr,  baiiti/.ed  and  quick- 
ened by  the   livin^^  tokens  of  human  love  and  feeling. 
"  Oh,    yes,"    she    sobbed    at  la.-t,  "  it's   'cause  I'm 
^kid— mother'll   be   able  to   see  the  Howers  now.  an' 
tiic  birds,  an'  cverything_..hc  loves  them  so.     An' 
I'xor   Marvey    won't    have    to    >pend    his    ra.^j^berry 
n.oney;    he  hasn't  any  winter  coat,  but  now— I'm 
near!)-  as   glad   for  I  larvey  as  I  am  for  mother,"  she 
broke  olt;  suddenly  dr\-ing  her  e\-es.  the  ever-ready 
smile  of  childhood  returning  to  the  pL.yground  from 
whicli  the  tears  had  driven  it. 

"What  makes  you  so  glad  about  Harvey?" 
Madeline  broke  in,  hailing  the  returning  smile  with 
one  no  less  radiant  other  own. 

"  Ikcause— because  mother  was  sorrier  about  Har- 
vey than  anj-thing  else.  You  .>ee.  he's  nearly  ready 
to— to  be  a  scholar.  An'  mother  always  said  she'd 
be  able  to  do  everything  for  Harvey— everything 
like  that,  )-ou  know— if  she  could  only  see.'  Our 
Harvey's  gc^n'  to  be  a  great  man— if  he  gets  a 
chance,"  she  prophesied  solemnly,  looking  straight 
int.i  Madeline's  face,  the  bills  quite  forgotten  now, 
one  or  two  of  them  having  fallen  among  the  leaves 
upon  the  grass. 

"  Mind  }-ou,  our  Harvey  isn't  always  goin'  to  be 
poor— mother  says  there's  lots  of  rich  people  gets 
poor,  an'  lots  of  pc^r  people  gets  rich.  AiV  that's 
what    Harve}-'s    goin'    to  be— an'    mother   an'  me's 


Mi 

jii 


FOOD    For    THOUGHT  ,oi 

goin-  to  hdp  luni,"  the  little  loyalist  proclaimed,  her 
face  beamin.^'  witli  ccjiiiidence. 

Tins  opened  up  (luite  a  vein  of  conversation,  t^ 
which  the  youthful  minds  addressed  themselves  fJr  a 
serious  reason.  Finally,  foi-ettin-  all  philosophic 
matter^  Jessie  exclaimed:  "  I  wonder  where  llarvcv 
is— he  doesn't  often  leave  me  alone  like  this.  Won't 
he  be  glad  though  ?— I'm  -oin'  to  find  Harvej-." 

Little  did  either  of  tliem  dream  how  the  object  of 
their  wonderin-s  had  been  employed  while  they  wer-; 
sequestered  in  their  peacetul  nook. 

Having  left   tiie  table.  Harvey   loitered  about   tili 
varying   sounds   a.v.ured   him  that  the  meal   he  had 
abandoned  wa.  comi)leted.     Then   he  strode  along 
till    he    stood    beside    the   drowsy  sorrel,  still   doin'"^ 
spasmodic   battle   with   the   Hies.       Unbuttomng   hi" 
coat,  lie   removed  tlu,   tarts  and  hid  them  m  a  liollow 
log:     their    confinement    had    not    improved    them 
much.      Ihc!!   he  .tor,d   a  while,  pondering.     A   re- 
lieved and  purposeful  expression  at  lengtli'indicited 
that   hi>   mind    Mas   formed.     TU,t  considerable  time 
elapsed   bef  .re   a   wandering  urchin   hove  in  sight— 
and  '^uch  a  being  was  ab.nlutely  necessary.     The  bo-/ 
who    thii.-^   suddenly  appeared   was  evidently  bent  on 
an  inspection  of  the  animal,  looking  even 'from  afir 
with  the   critical   eye   that   universal   boyhood   turn- 
upon    a    horse.     The    j-oungster  drifted    nearer  an.l 
nearer  ;   Ue  was  contriving  to  chew  a  slab  of  tamarack 
pum  and  eat  an  apple  at  one  and  the  self-s.-ie  time, 
which  tempered  hi^  rr-i.>  r'l"^''-'"--'-'^ 


w 


102 


THF    WEB    OF    TIME 


li 


ill 


IS        r 


llarvcy  nimbly  slipped  the  noose  in  the  bridle 
icui,  the  strap  dan^lin^r  ,Vce  ;  il,e  horse  was  ciuitc 
••bhvi..ns,  trying  to  snatch  a  little  sleej)  between 
skirmishes. 

"  Hollo  there!"  Harvey  called  to  tlie  buy.  ••  come 
here — I  want  you  to  run  a  message." 

The  boy  responded  with  a  slightly  cpuckencd  pace, 
and  was  almost  at  his  siiie  when  he  .suddenly  stood 
still  and  emitted  a  dreary  howl. 

"Whafs  the  matter?"  Harvey  asked,  slightly 
alarmed,  the  sorrel  waking  completely  and  looking 
arouiul  at  the  newcomer. 

"  I  bit  my  tongue, '  the  urchin  wailed,  disgorging 
his  varied  grist  as  lie  spoke.  The  dual  proce>s1iad 
been  too  complicated  for  him  and  he  cautiously 
pasted  the  gum  about  a  glass  allev,  storing  both 
auay  ,n  his  breeches  pocket.  Then  he  bent  "lus  un- 
dnided  powers  upon  the  ap}  le. 

"  That'll  soon  be  all  r;gl;t,"  Marvey  assured  him- 
"  n.b  ,t  with  your  gums,"  he  directed  luminously 
"Dont  you  sec  that  horse  is  loose  ]>— well  I  want 
)-ou  to  run  back  and  tell  Cecil  Craig  his  hor.e  has  <.ot 
untied;  don't  tell  bin;  who  said  so." 

"Whafll    you    give    me?"     enqniivd    he    of  the 
v>oui.  led  tongue,  extending  the  injured  member  with 
telescopic   lluency,  squinting  one  eve  violnuh-  down 
to  survey  it.      ••  Is   it  blcedin'  ?  "  he  asked  tJnderly. 
"  •'^''^~  '^'"'^'t  ^^ven  cut,"  I  Iarve\-  resp>^,nded  curtly 
examining  it  seriously,  nevertheless,   with   the  sym- 
pathy that  belongs  to  boyhood.     ■•  Let  it  back-you 
-•>oi:  ]\kc  a  jay-bird  " 


FOOD     hor     THOUGHT  ,03 

The  <;thcr  witlidicu-  it  rcluc  UiMlly,  the  distorted  eye 
sluuly  recoverm^^  its  oibil  liil  it  rested  on  Harvey's 
face.  "Whafll  yo„  -;ivc  n.c  ? "  he  asked  again, 
makni-  another  sava-e  onslau-lit  on  the  apple. 

Harvey  kunbied  in  his  pocket,  rather  dismaye.l 
Jiut  In.-,  lace  hf,^hteneil  a.  hi.  hand  came  forth.  '•  J',, 
K've-  >ou  this  tooth-brush,"  he  said,  hokl.n-  out  a 
sorely  wasted  specimen.  ••  1  found  it  on  the  railroad 
track—M.ine  one  dropped  it,  1  cr,,c,s...  Or  111  j^ivc 
you  tin.  -arter."  expo.in-  a  -audy  circlet  of  elastic 
iati-ued  and  spnn-le..s;  ■•  1  tound  it  after  the  circu' 
moved  away." 

'Hie  Miiaiier  hoy's  face  lit  up  a  moment ;  ■.  reference 
to  the  sacred  institution  whose  departure  had  left  life 
so  dreai}-. 

'•  Charlie  Winter  found  a  shirt-.stud  an'  half  a  pair 
01  braces  there,"  he  said  sympathetically  ;  ••  he  rave 
the  slnrt-.-tud  to  his  sister,  l>ul  he  wears  the  braces 
hi.s.-elt,  •  he  added,  completiii-  the  humble  tale 

'Wlnciril   you  take?"   Harvey  enquired  abruptly 
fearlul  lest  the  sorrel  mi-Iu  awaken  to  his  liberty. 

"  f  don't  want  that,"  the  youn-er  .said  coiitemp 
tiK.u.iy,  .^dancm-  at  the  emaciated  tooth-brush' 
'' ue've  -01  one  at  home— a  better  one  than  that' 
An  I  don't  wear  garters,"  he  added  .scornfully 
Slancm;^^  dounwards  at  his  bare  legs,  "except  on' 
hundajs.  an  I've  ^oi  one  for  that— the  left  leg  never 
comes  down.  Haven't  you  got  anything  else?"  he 
queried,  looking  searchingly  in  the  direction  of  Hai- 
vey's  pocket. 

"No,  that's  all  I've  got,' returned   Harvey  as  he 


■  i| 
'^1 


If 


I! 


104 


■THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


ill 


■n  'f  I 


restored  the  tooth-brush  to  its  rcsting-placc,  still 
hopelul,  hou-ever,  of  the  garter.  ••  It'll  make  an  auful 
good  catapult,"  he  suggested  seriously. 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  said  the  bar-ainer. 

Harvey  handed  it  to  him.  ■■Ill  hold  your  apple  " 
he  offered.  ' 

•'Oh,  never  mmd,"  the  other  replied  discreetly; 
"  1  11  just  hold  it  in  my  mouth."  the  memory  of 
similar  .erv.ce  and  its  tragic  outcome  floating  before 
lum.  Ihe  boy  took  the  flaming  article  in  his  hand 
and  drew  it  back,  snapping  it  several  times  against 
the  sole  ot  his  uplifted  foot. 

"  AH   right,"  he  said,  withdrawing  what  survived 
ot  the  apple,  "  it's  a  little  mushy— ft  I'll  take  it." 

The  errand  having  boen  repeated  in  detail,  the 
)-oungster  departed  to  perform  it,  an  apple  stem- 
but  never  a  core—falling  by  the  uayside  as  he  went. 
Harvey  gazed  towards  the  brow  of  the  hili  till  he 
caught  the  first  glimpse  of  a  hurrying  form,  then 
>iipi)ed  in  behind  the  tree,  carefully  concealed. 

Lecil  Craig  came  apace,  for  he  culd  see  the 
dingUng  >tiap  at  a  little  distance,  flurri^dlv  re- 
tying  the  horse,  he  was  about  to  retrace  hiV  steps 
uhcn  he  suddenly  felt  himself  in  the  grip  of  an  evi- 
dently hostile  hand,  securely  attached  from  behind  to 
the  collar  of  his  coat. 

Xow  you  can  ask  mc  those  questions  if  j-ou 
like,"  he  heard  a  rather  hoarse  voice  saying;  and 
wnthing  round  he  looked  into  -  ,,ce  flaming'with  a 
wrath  that  was  rekindling  fast. 

Young  Craig  both  squirmed  and  squealed  ;  but  the 


FOOD    For    THOUGHT  ,05 

unj  was  as  fruitless  as  tlic  other.  Marvcy  was  bent 
.m  dealing  faithfully  with  hini ;  and  lack  of  spirit,  rather 
than  of  strength,  made  the  .struggle  a  comparatively 
unequal  one.  /.  ^ter  the  prehminary  application  was 
completed,  he  dragged  Craig  to  where  he  had  hidden 
tile  rhubarb  tarts,  still  cre.tiallen  from  solitar>-  con- 
finement. 

"  Why  dun't  you  make  some  more  jokes  about  the 
tarts  my  mother  made?"  Harvey  enquired  hotly; 
"you  were  real  funny  about  them  just  before 
dinner."  This  reference  to  his  mother  seemed  to 
i-ui  the  tlame  of  his  wrath  anew,  and  another  appli- 
cation was  the  natural  result. 

"  Let  me  go,"  Cecil  gasped.  •'  I  was  only  joking 
-ouch  !  I  was  just  joking,  I  say,"  as  he  tried  to  re- 
lease himself  from  Harvey's  tightening  grip. 

•'-So'm  I,"  retorted  Harvey;  "just  a  piece  of  play. 
the  same  as  )-ours— only  were  kind  o'  s]o^v■  at  seeing 
the  tun  of  it,  eh  ?  "  shaking  the  now  solemn  humour- 
ist tul  his  hair  rose  and  fell--  I'd  have  seen  the 
P-.mt  a  good  deal  qmcker  if  my  mother  hadn't  worked 
so  hard."  he  went  on.  nus},:-.g  with  the  recollection 
and  devoting  himself  anew  to  the  facetious  industry 
"  I'lck  up  those  tarts,"  he  thundered  suddenly. 

^  Cecil  looked  incredulously  at  his  antagonist.  One 
glance  persuaded  him  and  he  slowly  picked  up  one 
by  the  outer  edge. 

"  Take  'em  all— the  whole  three,"  Harvey  directed 
in  a  low  ten.se  tone.  \\  hich  Cecil  immediately  did, 
not  deeming  the  time  opportune  to  refuse. 

"Aow  give    liiem   to   your   horse,"  Harvey  said; 


if^J 


I! 


Illli 


io6 


■r/yf  «/£5  o/-'  r/A/£ 


"you  knou'  you  said  you'd  a  good  mind  to  feed  him 
with  them." 

"  I  won't  do  it,"  Cecil  declared  stoutly.     '•  I'll  fi^ht 
before  I  do  it."  ^ 

Harvey  sm.led.  -.  It  went  do  to  liave  any  ficjht- 
ing.  he  said  amiably.  -  TU  ju.t  give  them  to  him 
m>-seU-you  better  come  along."  ],c  suggested. 
t.glUenmg  h.s  grip  as  he  saw  Cecil  glancing  fondly 
ouard.s  the  brow  of  the  hill,  virions  of  a  more  peace- 
ful  scone  calling  him  to  return. 

Harvey  escorted  his  captive  to  the  horse's  head  • 
the  equme  was  now  u-.de  awake  uiul  taking  a  hvcK- 
intere:,t  in  the  animated  interview;  such  preparations 
for  mounting  he  had  never  seen  before.  But  he  w  ,. 
evidently  disinclined  to  be  drawn  into  the  argument  • 
for  when  Harvey  held  the  rhubarb  pie.  rather  battle- 
worn  now.  beneath  his  nose,  he  sniffed  contemptu- 
ously and  turned  scorn  fully  a\\a\-. 

Cecil,  somewhat  convalescent;  indulged  a  sneerin- 
htt  e  laugh.  ..  Your  little  joke  don't  work,"  he  saicr 
"  1  ompey  won't  look  at  'em." 

"  You'll  wish  he  had,  before  j-ou're  through  with 
them,  Harvey  returned  significant!)--"  you've  cot 
to  eat  them  between  you." 

"Got  to  what?-betw.^en  who  ?"  Cecil  gasped 
years  o.  grammatical  instruction  wasted  now  as  the 
dread  prospect  dawned  grim  and  gray;  "I  don't 
understand  you,"  he  faltered,  turning  remarkably 
white  for  one  so  utterly  in  the  dark. 

"  It  does,  -t   need  much   understanding."    Harvey 
returned  laconically.     -  Go  ahead." 


FOOD   For    THOUGHT  107 

Then  the  real  struggle  began;  compared  to  this 
difference  of  opinion,  and  the  physical  demonstra- 
tion wherein  it  found  expression,  the  previous  en- 
counter u-as  but  as  kittens'  frolic  in  the  sun. 

The  opening  argument  concluded  after  a  protracted 
struggle,  I  larvey  emerged  upi.crniost,  still  pressin-  liis 
hospitality  upon  tl:e  prostrate  Cecil.  "  Mav  as  well 
^valk  tlic  i  lank,"  he  was  saying  ;  "  besides,  tluy're  net- 
ting dr3-er  all  the  time,"  he  informed  him  as  a  friend 
"Let  me  up,"  gurgled  Cecil.  Harvey  promptly 
re.eased  him  ;  seated  on  a  log,  the  latter  be-an  to  re- 
new the  debate. 

"  I've  had  my  dinner,"  he  pleaded  ;  ■•  an'  1  ite  all  I 
could." 

"  A  little  more  won't  hurt  you-always  room  at 
the  top,  you  know.  Anyhow  it's  just  dessert"  re- 
sponded Harvey,  holding  out  one  of  the  larts. 
\\  hereat  Cecil  again  valiantly  refused-and  a  worthy 
demonstration  f(j)lowed. 

The  conquered  at  last  kissed  the  rod  and  the 
so  emn  operation  began.  Harvey  cheerfully  breaking 
off  caunk  after  chunk  and  handing  them  to  the  weary 
muncher.  •.  There's  lots  of  poor  clnldren  in  Xew 
\ork  would  be  glad  to  get  them,"  he  said  in  answer 
to  one  of  Cecil's  most  vigorous  protests. 

"Say,"  murmured  tb.e  stall-fed  as  he  paired  al- 
most mired  in  the  middle  of  tart  number  two,  .'.  let 
me  Uike  the  rest  home  an'  eat  'em  there— I'll  really 

eat  em     on  my  honour;   I  promise  you,"  he  declared 
solemnly. 

"  I'm  surprised  a  fellow  brought  up  like  you  would 


io8 


iJi'i 


r' 

J. 


r/y£    IVEB    Of    TIME 


think  of  carr)-in'  stuff  home  to  cat  it— tiiafs  bad 
form.  Here,  take  it— shut  your  ey  s  and  open  youi 
mouth,"  commanded  his  keeper,  holding  another  gen- 
erous fragment  to  his  hps. 

"  I  say.-  gulped  Cecil  plaintively,  "  give  us  a  drink 
— Its  chokin'  i::c." 

"  Shouldn't  drink  at  your  meals,"  returned  Harvey  • 
"  bad  lor  your  digestion-but  I  guess  a  drop  or  tu-i 
won  t  hur^  you.  Here,  come  this  way-put  on  xoux- 
cap-an-  fetch  that  along."  pointing  at  the  survn  m- 
tart ;  "  the  exercise'!!  do  you  good."  and  lie  led  the 
way  dou-nwards  to  a  little  brook  meandering  througli 
the  woods.  No  hand  was  on  the  victim's  collar  nou- ; 
poor  Cecil  was  in  no  shape  for  flight. 

"  Give  us  your  cap,"  said  Harvey,  thrusting  it  into 
the  sparkling  water  and  holding  the  streaming  re- 
ceptacle to  Cecil's  lips  ;  "  that's  eno- :7h— that'll  do 
just  n<j,v- ;  don't  want  you  to  get  foundered." 

"  I've  had  enough,"  groaned  the  guest  a  minute 
later.  <r,  if  the  moment  had  only  come  ;  "  I've  got  it 
nearl}-  all  down— an'  I  hate  crusts.  I  won't;  by 
heavens.  I  tell  you  I  won't."  bracing  himself  as  vigor- 
ously as  his  cargo  would  i)ermit. 

"I'm  the  one  to  say  when  you've  had  enou-h," 
Harvey  retorted  shortly,  throwing  himself  into  bat- 
tle array  as  he  spoke.  "  an'  you  bet  you'll  eat  the 
crusts— I'll  teach  you  to  eat  what's  set  before  j-ou  an' 
make  no  remarks  about  the  stuff— specially  when  its 
not  your  own,"  he  said,  reverting  to  the  original  of- 
fense and  warming  up  at  the  recollection.  '"  You'd 
make  a  great  fight,  wouldn't  you— fightm'  you'd  be 


■'^^^::^^M^^^^±^''W^KN^w:^^^^^'^^*^^ 


W--':. 


w 


FOOD    For    THOLGHT  109 

like    fightin'  a  brcad-puddm',     lie  concluded  scorn- 
full)-. 

Cecil  munched  laboriously  011.  ••  There,"  riar\'ey 
.suddenly  interrupted,  "now  you've  had  enou-h— 
that  wasn't  rhubarb  you  were  ealin',"  he  flun^^' ''con- 
temptuously at  him;  "'twa.-,  cruu_an' thafll'tcach 
\ou  to  make  sport  of  folk,  yuu  think  beneath  you. 
You'll  have  some  food  for  tliou-ht  for  a  while— you'd 
better  walk  round  a  bit,"  he  con-^luded  with  a  -rin  as 
he  turned  and  strode  away,  leavin-  the  inlaid  Cecil 
alone  with  his  burcle:icci  bo-um 


XII 


h 


■THE    E\CIRC     'VG    GLOOM 

REAL  boyhood,  uuh  '^  chccrfiilucss  amid 
present  carch  and  it>  oblivion  to  those  that 
were  }'et  to  come,  was  almost  pa>t.  Such 
at  least  would  have  been  the  opinion  of  an>-  accurate 
observer  if  he  had  noLeJ  Harvey's  face  that  summer 
morning  as  ne  pre->ed  aloni;  the  city  street.  A 
deeper  s  riousness  than  mere  years- be.-,tow  locked  out 
from  the  half-troubled,  half-hopeful  ^'a/.e  ;  not  that  it 
was  ill-becoming — the  contrar>'  rathei — for  there  was 
somethinc;  of  steady  lesoluteness  n;  his  e^e.-,  that  at- 
tested his  purpose  to  play  some  wtn'Jiy  part  in  this 
Jevererl  life  whose  .tern  and  warlike  lace  had  already 
lookc  1  its  challenge  to  his  own. 

How  pathetic  were  many  a  poor  procession — and 
how  romantic  too — if  we  could  but  sec  the  in\  isibles 
that  accompany  the  humblest  trudgerd  on  the  hum- 
blest street ! 

For  ?»Jemory  and  Hope  and  Fear  and  Sorrow  and 

silent    Pain — Death    too,  noiselessly    pursuing and 

Love,  chiefcit  of  them  all,  mute  and  anguished  often- 
times, crowdmg  Death  aside  and  battling  bravely  in 
the  shadowy  struggle ;  how  often  might  ail  these  be 
seen  accompanying  the  lowly,  had  we  but  the  light- 
ened vi.^io.n  ! 

no 


'•i^^:fij'm?^w^w^m:^''%^f:-mm^'r£\  'v^m  i 


The   ENCIRCLING    GLOOM       iii 

Thus  was  it  there  that  summer  day.      i  he  careless 
noticed  notliing   but  a   well   developed  lad,  his  poor 
clothes  as  carefully  repaired  and  brushed  as  faithful 
hands  could  make  them  forhis  visit  to  the  ci'.y  ;  and  they 
saw  beside  him  only  a  white-faced  woman,  her  whole 
mien  marked  by  timidity   and   <,Tentleness,  as  if  she 
felt  how  poor  and  small  was  the  part  she  played  in 
the  surtjing  life  about   her.     Hoth   made  their  way 
carefully,  keeping  close  in   under  the  shadow  oi  the 
buildings,  as  if  anxious  to  escape  the  jostling  throng. 
Ihe  woi  .ail's  hand  was  in  her  son's  ;  she  seemed  to 
be  trustin;,^  .dtog-^^er  to  his  guidance  and  protection, 
and    very   ^tnderly   he  shielded   her  from  the  little 
perils  of  the  street.     Timidly,  j'et  right  eagerly,  they 
made  their  way—for  the  quest  was  a  great  one ;  and 
ail   the  }-ears  to  come,  they  knew,  were  wrapped  m 
the  bosom  of  that  an.xious  hour. 

"  Hadn  t  we  better  get  on  one  of  those  street  cars, 
mother?"  the  boy  asked,  glancing  wistfully  at  a  pass- 
ing trolle\-.     "  I'm  sure  you're  tired." 

'•  How  much  does  it  cost,  JIarvey.?"  the  mother 
asked. 

••  I'm  not  very  sure,  but  I  think  it's  ten  cents  for 
us  both,"  he  answered,  relaxing  his  pace. 

The  mother  pressed  on  anew.  "  We  can't  afford 
it.  dear,"  she  said;  «•  it'll  take  such  a  lot  to  pay 
the  doctor—we'll  have  to  save  all  v/e  can ;  and  I'm 
not  very  tired,"  she  concluded,  taking  his  hand 
again. 

When,  after  much  of  scrutiny  and  more  of  enquiry, 
they  stood  at  Icn^lh    before  the  doctor's  imposing 


p1' 


I 


III  ^ 


112 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


place,  both  instinctively  stopped  and  gazed  a  little 
the  outlines  of  the  stately  house  floating  but  xcvv 
dimly  before  the  woman's  wistful  e}'es. 

"  Will  we  ask  him  how  much  it  costs  before  we  -o 
in  ?  "  I  larvey's  mother  asked  him  anxiously. 

The  uoy  pondered  a  moment.     "  I  don't  think  so  " 
he  said  at  length ;  «  he  mightn't  like  it." 
"  But  perhaps  we  haven't  got  enough." 
"  Well,  we  can  send  the  rest  after  we  get  home- 
I  ve  got  the  raspberry  money  left." 

The  woman  sighed  and  smiled  together,  permitting 
herself  to  be  led  on  up  the  steps. 

Harvey's  hand  was  on  the  bell :  «  You  don't  sup- 
pose he'll  do  anything  to  you,  will  he,  mother?  lie 
won't  hurt  you,  will  he.?" 

"  Xo,  no,  child,  of  course  not ;  he'll  make  nic 
well."  his  mother  said  reassuringly.  In  a  moment 
the  bell  was  answered  and  the  excited  pair  were  ush- 
ered in. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  kindly  than  their 
reception  at  the  hands  of  the  eminent  doctor  ;  nor 
couic!  the  most  distinguished  patient  have  been  more 
carefully  and  sympathetically  examined.  Almost 
breathless,  Har\  ej-  sat  waiting  for  the  verdict. 

But  the  doctor  was  very  vague  in  his  conclusions 
"  \  ou  must  use  this  lotion.  And— and  we'll  hoi.c 
for  the  best,"  he  said;  "and  whenever  you're  in  tin 
city  you  must  come  and  sec  me-don't  make  a 
special  trip  for  that  purpose,  of  course."  he  added 
cautioush 

"  \\  hy  ?  "  Harvey  asked  acutely. 


■The    ENCIRCLING    GLOOM       in 

The  doctor  made  an  evasive  reply.  Harvey's  face 
was  dark. 

"  How  much  is  it?"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  his 
hand  goinjj  to  his  pocket  as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh,  that's  not  important— we'll  just  leave  that 
till  you're  in  the  city  again,"  said  the  kindly  doctor, 
shaking  I  [arvey  playfully  by  the  shoulder. 

"  I'd  sooner  pay  it  now,  sir  ;  I've  got— I've  got 
some  money,"  declared  the  boy. 

"  Well,  all  right,"  returned  the  physician  ;  "  let  me 
see— ho\v  would  a  dollr.r  appeal  to  you  ?  My  charge 
will  be  one  dollar,"  he  said  gravely. 

Harvey  was  busy  unwinding  his  little  roll.  '■  It's 
not  very  much,"  he  said  without  looking  up;  "I 
though^  'twould  be  a  lot  more  than  that~I  haven't 
got  anything  smaller  than  five  dollars,  sir." 

"  Xeither  have  I— what  a  rich  bunch  wc  are,"  the 
doctor  answered  quickl\-  ;  "  I  tell  you— I'm  liable 
to  be  up  in  Glenalien  some  of  these  davs  for  a  bowl- 
ing match  ;  I'll  just  collect  it  then,"  leading  the  way 
towards  the  door  as  he  spoke,  his  farewell  full  of 
cordial  cheer. 


Neither  mother  nor  ^m  uttered  a  word  till  they 
were  some  little  distance  from  the  doctor's  office. 
Suddenly  the  former  spoke. 

"  The  world's  full  of  trouble,  Harvey— but  I  be- 
lieve it's  fuller  of  kindness.  It's  wonderful  how  many 
tender-hearted  folks  there  are.  Wasn't  it  good  of 
him?" 

Harvey  made  no  answer,  but  his  jiand  loo.^ened  it- 


114 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


m 


w 


■  II 


self  from  hers.  "  I  believe  I — I  forgot  something," 
he  said  abruptly.  "Just  wait  here,  mother ;  I'll  be 
back  in  just  a  minute — you  can  rest  here,  see,"  lead- 
ing her  to  a  bench  on  the  green  sward  of  a  little 
crescent  not  much  more  than  half  a  stone's  throw 
away. 

A  minute  later  he  was  back  in  the  doctor's  office, 
the  surprised  physician  opening  the  door  himself. 
"  What's  the  matter,  boy— forgotten  something  ?  " 
he  queried. 

"  No,"  Harvey  answered  stoutly,  his  face  very 
white ;  "  but  I  knew  you  didn't  tell  me  everything, 
sir — and  I  want  to  know.  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
now,  quick — mother's  waiting." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know,  laddie  ?  " 

"  Because  she's  my  mother,  sir.  And  I've  got  a 
little  sister  at  home — and  I'm  going  to  take  care  of 
them  both  ;  and  I  want  to  know  if  mother's  eyes  are 
going  to  get  better,  sir,"  he  almost  panted,  one  state- 
ment chasing  the  other  as  fast  as  the  words  could 
come. 

The  doctor's  face  was  soft  with  grave  compassion  ; 
long  years  of  familiarity  with  human  sd  -ring  had 
not  chilled  that  sacred  fire.  Putting  hit  arm  about 
the  youth's  shouklcr,  he  drew  the  throbbing  form 
close  to  him.  "  My  boy,"  he  began  in  a  low  \oice, 
"  I  won't  deceive  you.  Your  mother's  e>csight  is 
almost  gone.  But  still,"  he  hastened  on  as  the  lad 
started  and  turned  his  pleading  eyes  up  to  tlic  tloc- 
tor's  face,  "  it  might  come  back — you  can  never 
tell.     It's  an  affection  of  the  optic  nerve — it's  often 


■The    ENCIRCLING    GLOOM       w^ 


aggravated  by  a  violent  shock  of  some  kind — and 
I've  had  cases  where  it  did  come  back.  It  niicfht 
return,  lad,  might  come  very  slowly  or  very  suddenly 
— and  I  can  say  no  more  than  that." 

The  poor  boy  never  moved ;  the  mournful  eyes 
never  wandered  an  instant  from  the  doctor's  face. 
The  silence  seemed  long ;  at  least  to  the  physician. 
One  or  two  patients  had  arri\ed  meantime,  waiting 
in  the  outer  room — and  a  .  )achman's  shining  hat 
could  be  seen  t'^-'ough  the  spacious  window.  But 
it  did  not  dawu  .  Harvey  that  such  a  doctor  could 
have  any  other  care  in  all  the  world,  or  anj'  serious 
duty  except  such  as  now  engrossed  ihcm  both. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  tlic  physician  said 
presently. 

"  I'm  going  back  to  my  mother."  the  boy  an- 
swered simply,  picking  up  his  hat. 

"  I  »h,  yes,"  and  the  other  repressed  a  smile;  "  but 
I  mean — what  are  you  going  to  do  at  home?  What 
will  \-ou  go  at  in  Glenallen — you  go  to  school,  don't 
you  ? " 

"  I'm  going  to  work  all  the  time,"  1  larvey  replied 
resolutely,  mo\ing  along  the  hall. 

The  doctor's  hand  was  on  the  door.  "  I'm  sorry 
for  you,  my  lad,"  he  said  gentl\-.  "  But  tlicre's 
ahvaj's  hope — we  re  all  God's  patients  after  all,"  he 
added  earnestly. 

Harvey  put  his  hand  against  tlu.-  opening  door, 
his  face  turning  in  fullness  of  candour  and  trust 
towards  the  doctor. 

"  I've  prayed  about  mother   for   a  long  time,"  lie 


if 


}  iiiii 


i 


i 


I 


I  lO 


•THE    IVEB    Of    -TIME 


liriii. 


said;    "is    it    any    use    to  keep  on,  sir?     You're  a 
specialist  and  you  ought  to  know." 

'ilie  doctor  closed  the  door  quite  tight.  '•  Don't 
let  ail)'  specialist  settle  that  matter  lor  you,"  he  said 
a  little  hoarsely.  "  it  often  seems  as  if  tlic  good 
Lord  wouldn't  begin  till  they  get  through.  So  you 
pray  on,  my  lad— for  there's  no  healing,  after  all, 'but 
comes  from  God."  Then  he  opened  tlie  dour  and 
the  broken-hearted  went  out  into  the  street. 

Suffused    and    dim,    blinking    bravely   through    it 
ail,   were  the   mournful  eyes  as  Harvey  retraced  his 
steps   towards   his  mother;    swift  and  deep  was  the 
train  of  thought    that   wound    its   way  through  his 
troubled   mind.     For  there   is   no  ally  to   deep  and 
earnest  thinking  like    a    loving   heart  that    anguish 
has    bestirred— all   true    quickening    of   our    mental 
laculties    is    the    handiwork    of   the   soul.     Harvey 
saw  the  trees,  the  sky,  the  birds  between— all  differ- 
ent now,  more  precious,  more  wonderful  tu  behold  ; 
for  he  saw   theia  in  the  light  of  his  mother's  deep- 
ening  darkness,  and  the  glor>-  of  all  that  \\as  evan- 
ishing from  her  appeared  the  more  beautiful,  pitifully 
beautiful,  to  his  own  mist>-  e}-es. 

Involuntarily  he  thought  o{  the  future;  (jf  the 
twilight  )-ears  tliat  lay  beyond— and  his  inward 
e>-es  turned  shuddering  away.  The  }-ears  tliat  were 
past,  those  at  least  that  had  come  and  gone  before 
the  threatening  shadow  first  appeared,  seemed  to  lie 
behind  him  like  a  lane  of  light.  Poverty  and  ob- 
scurity and  sorrow  and  care  had  been  well  content 
to  abii'e   together   in   their   humble   home— almost 


frfSfffv   ''J^Hr^' 


^:-'- 


J\:^^lf'M  -fi 


The    ESCI RCLING    GLOOM        117 

their  only  guests  save  love.  Vet  his  memory  now 
of  those  earlier  years  was  only  of  their  'gladness,  their 
happiness,  their  light— all  the  rest  had  vanished  like 
a  dream  when  one  av.akes.  He  remembered  only 
that  thc\-  two,  the  fatherless,  had  been  wont  to  look 
deep   ;ip.J    lovingly  into  the  e}-es  that  looked  back 

their   •,■.  ealth  of  fondness   into  the  children's  face- 

night  T  day.  day  or  night,  that  light  was  never 
quencliL-d ;  they  could  see  her  and  she  could 
see  them — and  to  look  was  to  possess,  though  his 
early  thougi^i.^  could  not  have  defined  this  m\'-tic 
truth,  cl^.erish  it  fondly  though  they  did.  J^i.t  for  the 
future— ah  me!  for  the  future,  with  blindness  in  a 
mother-  eye>. 


Vet  Hru-vey's  thought,  swift  and  pensive  as  it  was, 
was  tro'abled  by  no  prospect  of  burden  for  himself 
antl  by  no  apprehension  of  all  the  load  that  must 
be  moved,  under  cover  of  the  fast-falling  dark,  from 
his  mother's  shoulders  to  his  own.  His  thought  v. as 
what  mu-t  be  called  heart-thought,  and  that  alone. 
It  a  tleeting  view  of  new  responsibilities,  or  a  melt- 
ing p!:ture  oi  his  sister's  face,  hung  for  a  moment 
before  tiie  inward  eye.  it  retreated  fast  before  the 
great  virion  that  flooded  his  soul  with  tenderness, 
the  vi-i  >ii  of  a  woman — and  she  his  mother— sitting 
apart  in  the  silence  and  the  dark,  the  busy  hands 
denied  tlie  luxury  of  work,  the  ever-open  l^ible  closed 
before  her,  the  great  world  of  beauty  receding  into 
shadow  :  and.  most  of  all.  there  rose  before  him  the 
image  of  her  face,  unresTionsi\'  1  unsmilinp'  \'.hen 


Hi 


t\ 


t 


118 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


the  tender  eyes  of  lier  oun  children  .hould  fall  upon 
It,  mutely  searching,  yearning  sik-ntly    for  the  an- 
suenng  sunshine  of  days  that  uould  come  no  more 
U.thout  a  word   Harvey  took  hi.  .eat  beside  his 
mother.     Her  hand    slipped    quietly    out  and    took 
iMs   own   but  without  speech  or  sound-and  in  that 
moment  Harvey  learned,  as  he  had  never  known  be- 
fore, how  cruel  are  the  lips   of  silence.     Suddcnh-  he 
nofced  a  cab,  rolling  idly  along,  the  driver  throvnng 
h.s  eyes  hither  and  thither,  po.sing  hke  a  kingfisher 
for  Its  plunge. 

The  boy  raised  his  hand  in  signal  and  the  cabby 
swooped  down  upon  him  like  one  who  has  found  his 
prey. 

"Get  in.  mother-we'll  drive  ack,"  he  said 
quietly. 

His   mo.-her.  startled  beyond  measure  at  the  pros- 
pect of  extravagance  so  unwonted,  began  to  remon- 
strate, almost  refusing.     But  a  different  note  seemed 
to  have  come  into  Harvey's  voice,  his  words  touched 
with  something  that  indicated  a  new  era.  sonKth.ng 
of  the  authority   that  great  compassion    gives     and 
>n  a  moment  she  found  herself  yielding  with   a    de- 
pendent confidence  she  had  never  felt  before. 
"  Where  to  .>  "  asked  the  man. 
"Anywhere."  said  Harvey— -  somewhere  near  the 
station  ;  I'll  tell  you  where." 

"  Ifll-if  11   cost  a  dollar."  the    man   ventured,  h.s 
H'HKl   sfil   on   the  door  and  his  eyes  making  a  s^vift 
inventory  of  the  boy's  rather  unpromising  apparel. 
'■■  I  il  pay  you,"  the  latter  answered  stern!\-.     '•  Shut 


ml■^:^t 


■The    ENCIRCLING    GLOOM       119 

the  door  ;  close  the  window  too,"  he  ordered — "  close 
both  the  windows.     And  don't  drive  fast." 

The  spendthrift  impulse  must  have  been  heaven- 
born  and  that  vagrant  chariot  been  piloted  from  atar. 
For  they  two  within  felt  somctiiing  of  sanctuary 
peace  as  the  driver  vanished  to  his  place  and  they 
found  themselves  alone— alone  with  each  other  and 
the  sorrow  that  was  deep  and  thrilling  as  their  love. 
They  could  hear  and  feel  the  busy  tide  of  life  about 
them  ;  the  pomp  of  wealth  and  the  tumult  of  busines-, 
frowned  from  towering  mansions,  or  swept  indiffer- 
ent by,  knowing    nothing,  caring   less,  about  those 

nestling  two  who  were  all  alone  in  the  mighty  city 

but  tliey  had  each  other,  and  the  haughty  world  was 
shut  out  from  them,  all  its  cruel  grandeur,  all  its 
surging  billows  powerless  to  rob  them  of  what  their 
stricken  hearts  heltl  dear.  And,  if  the  truth  were 
told,  man)'  a  stately  house  and  many  a  flashing  car- 
riage that  passed  them  by,  held  less  of  love's  real 
wealth  than  did  the  mud-bespattered  cab  that  creaked 
and  rumbled  on  its  way. 

Sexeral  minutes  elapsed  befoi^  either  spoke. 
Then  the  mother  turned  towards  the  silent  lad,  her 
face  sweet  in  the  wistful  smile  that  stole  across  it. 

"Did  you  find  what  you  went  back  for,  dear  ?  " 
she  asked. 

Harvey  cast  one  sharp  agonized  glance  towards 
the  gentle  face— and  it  told  him  all.  Me  knew  then 
that  the  pain  of  either  concealing  or  revealing  was  to 
be  sparec'  him  ;  but  his  heart  leaped  in  pity  and  in 
boundless   love  as  he  saw  the  light  upon  the  worn 


^ 


I' 


i  ■ 
I' 


=' 


1 20 


■THE    IVEB    OF   7 1 M E 


lace,  the  brave  and   tender  signal  that  he  knew  the 
wuunded  ;.pirit  had  furnished  all  fur  him. 

lie  spoke  no  answer  to  her  words;  he  knew 
that  she  expected  none.  But  the  answer  came 
nevertheless,  and  in  richer  language  than  halting 
words  could  learn.  I-'or  he  rose  half  erect  in  the 
carriage,  careless  as  to  whether  the  world's  disdain- 
ful eye  might  see,  his  arms  stealing  around  the  yield- 
ing and  now  trembling  form  with  a  strength  and 
passion  that  were  the  gitt  of  the  fir.-,t  really  anguished 
hour  his  life  had  ever  known. 

Ihe  woman  lelt  its  power,  caught  its  message, 
e\-en  inwardly  rejoiced  in  the  great  security;  pa- 
\ilion  like  to  this  she  had  never  found  before  in  all 
her  storm-swept  life. 

"Oh,  Harvey,"  she  murmured  at  last,  "Harvey, 
my  son,  God's  been  good  to  me;  I'm  almost 
happy  when— when  I  feel  how  much  you  arc  to  me 
now— and  Jessie  too,"  she  added  quickly;  "poor 
Jessie — it'll  be  hard  for  her." 

Mutely,  reverently,  guided  from  on  high,  Harvey 
strove  to  speak  the  burden  of  his  heart.  But  it 
ended  only  in  tears  and  tender  tokens  of  hand  and 
hp.  his  sorrow  outpouring  the  story  of  its  pity  and 
devotion  as  best  it  could. 

"  I  11  alwaj-s  take  care  of  you,  mother,"  he  whis-^ 
peied ;  "  always— just  like  you've  taken  care  of  us. 
And  we'll  wait  till  you  get  better,  mother— we'll  wait 
together." 

His  mother's  fingers  were  straying  about  his  hair. 
"I  Know  it,  darling,"  she  said;  "  some  ways  I'm  so 


■%>'^«*aiPgs^^ipg»'jgs.^'^8gF'?*y:g.'wa@j3-':iiMi  ■  ^sms^. 


'^^^^^^^^^^1 


The    ENCIRCLING    GLOOM       121 

poor,  Harvey ;  but  other  ways  I'm  wonderfully  rich 
—the  highest  ways.  And  now,  Harvey,"  strjij^hten- 
ing  up  as  she  spoke,  "  there's  something  I  want  to 
attend  to.  You  must  tell  the  man  to  drive  to  a  store 
where  we  get  clothes— coati  and  things,  you  know. 
I  want  to  get  something." 

"What?"  asked  Harvey  suspiciously. 

"  It's  fur  you.  It's  a  winter  coat — you  know  you 
haven't  one,  Harvey." 

Then  followed  a  stout  protest  and  then  a  vigorous 
debate.  But  tile  mother  conquered.  "  Vou  mustn't 
forget  that  I'm  your  mother,  Harvey,"  she  finally 
urged,  and  Harvey  had  no  response  for  that.  But 
after  they  had  aliglited  and  the  purchase  had  been 
dul\-  made  he  contrived  to  withdraw  the  genial  sales- 
man beyond  reach  of  his  mother's  hearmg. 

'•  1  lave  you  got  sometiiing  the  same  price  as  this  ?  " 
he  asked  hurriedly;  "  something  for  a  lady— a  cloak, 
or  a  dressing-gown— one  that  would  fit,  you  know," 
he  >aid,  glancing  in  the  direction  of  his  mother. 

liie  cierk  was  responsixe  enough  ;  in  a  moment  the 
e.xchange  was  effected,  and  Harvey,  his  mother's  arm 
linked  with  his,  led  the  way  out  to  the  crowded  street. 

'rhe\-  made  their  way  back  to  the  station.  As 
Harvey  passed  within  its  arching  portals,  he  be- 
thought himself  sadly  of  the  high  iiope,  now  almost 
de<id  and  gone,  that  had  upborne  his  heart  when  last 
he  had  passed  beneath  them.  It  seemed  like  months, 
rather  than  a  few  hours,  so  charged  with  suspense 
and  feeling  had  those  hours  been. 

The  train  was   in  readiness  and    they  were  soon 


,-4iJ\; 


itl^ 


122 


7HF.    IV ER    or    7 IMF 


ii 


settled  tor  tiu  lioniewarcl  journey.     Hut  scarcely  had 
they    be;4im    to   move   when    the  door    before  them 
opened   and    Cecil   Lr.u'^  made  his  appearance.      lie 
evidently    kneu-    that   Harvey  and    his  mother  were 
aboard,    tor    his    eye    roamed    en(iuirinj:;ly    over    the 
passcn-ers,  restini,r  as  it  tell  on  the  two  k-rious  faces. 
Suddenly   he  seemed  to   note  that    I  farvey  had  pre- 
empted the  >eat  opposite  to  the  one  on  which  he  and 
his  mother  had  taken  their  places  ;  a  small  valise  and 
the  p.ucel  contain.!!^  the  surrei)titious  purchase  were 
lyin.,r    un     It.       Whereupon    Cecil    strotle    toruard. 
"Take   tlio>e  thinirs    olT,"   he    hectored— "  Want  the 
whole    tram    to   yourself?     Don't    you    know   that's 
a^-ainst  the  rulcs_I  want  to  sit  there." 

Harvey  had  not  seen  him  approaching;,  for  his  eyes 
had  been  fm-tively  stuth-ins;  his  mother's  face.  I  le 
started,  lookin.i;  no  at  Cecil  almost  as  though  he  were 
not  theie.  then  he  (juietly  rem. n-ed  the  encum- 
brances and  even  linneil  the  >eat  tor  Cecil  to  take  his 
place.  1  le  wondered  dumbly  to  himself  what  micjlit 
be  the  cause  of  this  stran<;e  calmness,  this  absolute 
mdiltereiice;  he  did  not  know  how  a  master-sorrow 
can  make  a. I   lesser  irritations  like  the  dust. 

"  Keep  It."  Cecil  said  insolently.  <•  I'm  Roincr  back 
to  the  Pullman- 1  wanted  to  see  who'd  walk  the  plank 
to-day,"  castinnr  at  Harvey  a  contemptuous  sneer  the 
latter  did  ncn  even  see.  And  no  thought  of  Cecil,  or 
his  ms  lit.  or  his  phantom  triumph,  mingled  with 
Harvey's  grave  reflections  as  they  rolled  swiftly 
homeu a.d  ,  he  had  other  matters  to  consider,  of  more 
importance  tar. 


XIII 
THE    DEllS    Oh     SOKKOir 

T\U:  dusk  \va-  ^^•ltllCu^t:J  about  iticni  as  the 
rcturnin.i,'  lia\cllcrs  wciulcd  tljcir  way  along 
the-  alniu-t  ciL^LTtcd  street.  The  dim  oiit- 
hnc  of  the  skimberin-  hills  could  be  -cen  across  the 
river — for  Glenalkn  had  grown  in  a  circle  up.jn  sur- 
rounding heights—and  iis  Harvey'-,  eyes  rested  now 
and  again  upon  them  in  the  dying  light  of  the  sum- 
mer day,  he  felt  a  -ecret  sense  of  help  and  comfort, 
as  if  some  o:^.e  knew  and  cared  U<v  Ins  clouded  life. 
It  seemed  good  to  walk  these  street^  v-;^" so  differ- 
ent from  those  of  the  city — with  the  tamiliar  faces 
and  the  kindly  voice.-  ;  and  often  wa-  lie  -,t(jpped  and 
questioned,  not  without  delicacy  and  cha.^te  le.-erve, 
as  to  the  outcome  of  their  pilgrimage.  Wiiich  gave 
his  heart  some  balm,  at  least  for  the  moment. 

"  Look,  mother,"  he  cried  sudilcniy,  forgetting  in 
his  eagerness;  ••  look_I  can  see  our  light."  his  face 
glowing  as  if  the  gleam  were  from  i^aiace  windows. 
His  mother  raised  her  head  quickh",  a^  if  -he  also 
saw.  Perhaps  it  was  even  clearer  to  her.  though  she 
beheld  it  not.  IVat  together  the\-  quickened  their 
pace,  for  they  knew  that  earth's  dearest  shelter,  how 
humble  soever  it  might  be,  was  just  before. 

And  as  the}-  came  closer,  Harvey  could  see,  the 

123 


I 


■  I 


m 


^1 

i 

i 
i    ■ 

i      i 

i  1 

:    i 


134 


r//£    t^£5    Of    TIME 


white  frock  showing  clear  against  the  shadows,  the 
outhne  of  his  sister's  form.  Poor  child,  the  day  had 
been  long  for  her,  waiting  and  wondering,  the  portent 
of  the  tidings  that  the  night  might  bring  mingling 
with  all  her  childish  though*  .  She  was  moving  ou*t 
from  the  door-step  now,  peering  eagerly,  starting  for- 
ward or  restraining  herself  again  as  doubt  and  cer- 
tainty of  the  approaching  pair  impelled  her.  Sud- 
denly  she  seemed  to  be  quite  sure,  and  with  a  little 
cry  she  bounded  along  the  street,  the  eager  footfalls 
pattering  with  the  rapidity  of  love. 

The  mother  knew  that  music  well  ,  her  hand 
slipped  out  of  Harvey's  grasp,  the  hungry  arms  out- 
stretched as  she  felt  the  ardent  form  approaching— and 
in  a  moment,  tears  and  laughter  blending,  the  gnlish 
arms  were  tight  about  the  mother's  neck  and  warm 
kisses  were  healing  the  wound  within.  Present!}- 
Jessie  withdrew  her  face  from  the  heaving  bosom, 
her  eyes  turned  wistfully  upon  her  mother's,  plain 
tively  searching  for  the  cure  her  childlike  hope  had 
expected  to  find  obvious  at  a  glance.  Disapjjoint- 
ment  and  pain  spoke  from  !^  r  c>-es— she  could  sec- 
no  difference— and  she  turned  almost  reproachfu!l\- 
upon  her  brother. 

"  What  did  he— what ?  "  she  began  ;  but  some- 
thing on  Harvey's  face  fell  like  a  forbidding  finger  on 
her  lips  and  her  question  died  in  silence. 

"  I  brought  you  something  pretty  from  the  cit)-, 
Jessie,"  the  mother  broke  in.  She  knew  what  had 
checked  the  words.  "  It's  in  the  satchel,  dear— and 
we'll  open  it  as  soon  as  we  get  liome." 


■The    DE^VS   of   SORKUIV  125 

"What's  in  that  utlicr  bundle?"  asked  the 
child. 

"It's  Harvey's  winter  coat,"  replied  ti;e  mother. 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  Je.■,^ie  said  Mnipiy,  "  And  (ill,  I've 
got  -ood  news  tou,  "  she  went  on  enuiu.-iastically. 
"  I   ..old   three   pair>  uf  tho>e  knitted   -tuci<uigs— all 

my>eif;  and  the  man   wmildn't  tawe  .uiy  change I 

only  a.,ked  him  once.  It  ua:,  thiny-uiie  cent.,— and 
the  money's  in  th<  ip,"  >he  conc.uu.d  e.igeriy  as 
they  passed  within  uie  little  door,  liie  beil  above 
clanging  their  weionie  home. 

The  vahsc  was  diu)-  u[)eiied  and  Je^.-ie's  present 
produced  amid  great  elation.  Only  a  .-,imi>ie  blue 
.-ash,  selected  by  lier  brother  with  grave  cieliberation 
trom  the  assortment  on  a  bargain  CL..ui:er  that  lay 
''■'■-e  victims  on  an  altar;  but  J.  .sie',  j  ,y  was  beauti. 
t"ul  to  behold,  aideti  and  abetted  ui  a  a>  ./ae  ^vas  by 
the  other  two,  both  mother  and  s..n  trying  on  the 
flashing  girdle,  only  to  declare  that  it  be'caine  Jessie 
best  of  all. 

^  Suddenly  the  girl  exclaimed  :  ••  Oh,  Harvey,  the 
chickens  missed  you  ^o.  I'm  sure  they  did— Snappy 
u'..uldirt  take  any  supper.  They're  in  bed.  of  course, 
but  I  don't  think  they're  sleeping— let',  just  go  out 
and  see  them.     Come." 

Harvey  was  willing  enough,  and  the  two  sallied 
out  together.  But  Jessie  held  her  hand  tight  on  the 
door,  drowsy  chucklings  within  all  unheeded,  as  she 
turned  her  white  face  upon  her  brother. 

"  Now,"   she  said  imperiously,  the  voice  low  and 
strained,   •  tell  me— tell  me  quick,  Harvey." 


i^!5>-^%-.,JiMH 


126 


T/y£    IVEB    OF    TIME 


III 


li 

1  n 

-      < 

'■       ■■ 

•; 

i'' 

1 

i 

. 

1 

i- 


i 


"  I  thought  }'oii  wanted  me  to  sec  the  chickens,"  he 
e\-;idcd. 

••  1  hate  the  clnckens— and  that  was  a  he  about 
Snal)py•^.  supper.  1  just  wanted  to  ask  you  about 
mother,      'icl!  me  quick,  Harvey.  ' 

iiarvcy  .sLiunmcred  somethin,:,^  ,  but  he  needed  to 
say  no  niMrc— the  -u'l  sank  sobbm-  at  his  feet. 

"1  knew  u,  ■  >he  cried.  -I  ,ist  knew  it— oh, 
mother,  vn  .tiler  :  And  she'U  soon  never  see  again,  and 
it'h  ai'/.ay..  be  nigiit  aU  the  time— an'  she'h  never 
look  at  >uu  ui  nie  any  more,  1  l.-vey,  she'll  never 
look  at  )-...u  <.r  r,ie  again.  .An'  1  got  a  little  photo- 
grai)h  t  .ok  t«>-,;ay,  a  little  tinlype--just  five  cents— 
an-  1  tiv.ugl.t  >\\cd  be  able  to  ^ec  it  when  she  came 
back.  (  )h,  Marvc}-,  Harvey,"  an. I  liie  unhapp)-  cliiid, 
long  >ear^  .:.  struggler  with  povert>-  and  cloud,  poured 
fortli,  ;ilr.;r..st  a.>  with  a  woman'.-  v.-icc,  the  first  strain 
of  angui-!;  her  little  heart  had  ever  known. 

ihuve>-  sank  bc.-,ide  her.  lii..  arm  holding  her  close. 
TIic  twilight   was   now  deepening  ;nto  dark,  a  fitting 
mantei    for   tlie-e    two  enshaduwed  liearts.     Tiie  still 
form   nt   the  bending  brother,  already  giving  promise 
ot   manho.Ki'.  strength,  seemed,  even  in  outward  as- 
pect, to   -peak-    ,,f  inner    compa-ion    as    he    bended 
^)ver  the  slender  and  weaker  frame  oi  his  little  sister. 
Strong  and  fearievs  and  true  he  was  ;  and  if  any  e3e 
had   been    keen   enough   to  penetrate  that  encircling 
gloom  and  catch  a  vision  oi  all  that  lay  behind  the 
humble  scene,  tlie  knightly  soul  of  the  struggling  boy 
would    have   stoodi   forth  like   a   .dieltcring   oak— so 
pouerle.-is,  nevertheless,  to  shield  the  chnr'ino-  life  bc- 


■■»^. 


The    DEWS   of   SORKOir  \2-j 

side  him,  overswept  as  it  was  b\-  the  .nds  and 
waves  of  sorrow.  But  the  purpose  and  :1,.  htait 
were  there— the  fatlicrless  spreading  ^'cr,'  ■  ,  v.  ,s 
above  the  fatherless— and  the  scene  was  a  holy  one, 
typical  of  all  humanity  at  its  hirrhest,  and  faintly  fal- 
tering the  story  of  the  Cross.  J-ur  if  human  tender- 
ness and  pity  are  not  lights,  broken  though  they  be, 
of  the  great  Heart  Divine,  then  all  life's  noblest 
voices  are  but  mocker)-  and  lies. 

"  Don't,  Jessie,  please  don't,"  he  murmured,  his 
own  tears  flowing  fast.     ••  It'll  only  keep  her   from 

getting  better— she'll  see  your  eyes  all  w\  an' " 

"She  won't— she  can't."  sobbed  the  gui  ;  -you 
know  she  can't— she  can't  see.  llarve\-,"^i  fresh  tide 
outbreaking  at  the  thought. 

"  But  she'll  feel  it,  Je>sie.  Mothers  can  feel  every- 
thing like  that— 'specially  everybody's  ,,uii  mother," 
he  urged,  vainly  trying  to  control  hi>  own  grie'f. 
"  And  anyhow,  the  doctor  said  she  nu-ht  get  better 
some  time— perhaps  all  of  a  sudden.  A  nd  we've  got 
to  help  her,  Jessie  ;  and  we've  got  to  make  her  happy 
tow— and  we  can— mother  said  we  could,"  he  cried, 
his  tone  growing  firmer  as  the  great  liie-u  ,=i  k  loomed 
bef<  re  him. 

1  lope  is  the  most  contagious  cf  all  fMini-  .f  health  ; 
and  with  wonderful  gentleness  and  i,>.\\<  ,-  'l.c  youth- 
ful comforter  drew  the  sobbing  heart  be  id.  lijni  into 
the  shelter  of  his  own  tetuler  courage,  tl.c  Imling- 
place  of  his  own  loving  purpose.  <oon  Jessie  was 
staring,  wide-eyed,  at  her  brother,  a  he  un'lNldedthc 
new     luties  they  must  perform  togeilu,! .      1  h^t  word 


jm^. 


>  M.  i :  ' 


128 


THE    [VEB    OF    TIME 


![[■ 


lii^  '\ 


n 


i\ 


t 


itself  was  never  used,  but  her  heart  answered,  as  ali 
true  hearts  must  ever  answer,  to  the  appeal  of  God. 

"  I'll  try,  Harvey,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I'll  do  tht 
best  1  can  to  help  mother  to  get  well — an'  I'll  get  up 
in  the  mornings  an'  make  the  porridge  myself,"  she 
avowed,  smiling,  the  first  step  showing  clear. 

Hand  in  hand  they  went  back  to  the  house, 
the  light  of  eager  purpose  upon  both  their  facc>. 
As  they  entered,  a  familiar  voice  fell  on  Harvey's 
ear. 

"  We  was  jest  a-goin'  by," — it  was  David  Borland's 
staccato—"  an'  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  an'  see  if  you 
was  all  safe  home.  Don't  take  off  your  things,  Made- 
line ;  we're  not  a-visitin',"  he  said  to  the  girl  beside 
him.  For  she  was  bidding  fair  to  settle  for  a  pro- 
tracted stay. 

"  Yes,  we're  safe  home,  thank  you,"  answered  Mrs. 
Simmons,  "  and  it's  lovely  to  get  back.  I'm  a  poor 
traveller." 

"  'Tain't  safe  to  travel  much  these  days,"  rejoined 
Mr.  Borland  after  he  had  greeted  Harvey ;  whose 
face,  as  well  as  a  fugitive  word  or  two,  hushed  an)' 
queries  that  were  on  David's  lips — "  so  many  acci- 
dents, I  always  feel  skeery  on  the  trains — must  be 
hard  to  run  Divine  predestination  on  schedule,  since 
they  got  them  heavy  engines  on  the  light  rails.  I 
often  think  the  undertakers  is  part  of  the  railroad 
trust,"  he  concluded,  smiling  sententiously  into  all 
the  faces  at  once. 

Some  further  conversation  ensued,  prompted  in  a 
general  way  by  the  excursion  t-  tliL  city,  and  deal- 


■Mi^df*. -  ■    ■' w.  <i£i'i*:b.. ,  -^k. - 


■The    DEll^S   oj    SORROW  129 

ing  tmally  uiLh  tlic  quc.itiuu  ui'  ciniiicnt  city  doctt>r.- 
and  tlv    '■  merits. 

"  I  only  went  onct  to  a  bi^^  cit>'  nuiii  like  that," 
David  said  rcminisceatl)-,  ••  and  it  was  about  my 
eyes,  too.  Vou  see,  1  rammed  my  shaving-bru-li 
into  one,  one  evenia'  when  I  was  hhavin'  in  the  duslc. 

Well,  I  was  awful  skeery  about  what  he'd  charge 

didn't  have  much  of  the  ahnigiit)-  needful  in  them 
da)'s.  An'  I  heard  he  charged  the  Governor-Gen- 
eral's missus  five  thou.-,and  dollars,  a  week  or  two  be- 
fore, for  takin'  a  speck  o'  dust  out  of  her  e\-e — eastin' 
out  the  mote,  as  the  .Scri[)tur  sa}-s  ;    I'd   leave  a  sand- 


al! 


pit  stay  there  before  I'd  shell  out  like  that.  W 
anyhow,  I  was  skcered.  'cause  I  knew  me  an'  the  no- 
bility had  the  same  kind  of  eyes.  So  I  didn't  dress 
very  good — wore  some  old  togs.     A  •-  he  got 

through— just  about  four  minutes  an'  a  I  askexl 

him  what  was  the  damage.  Sa\s  he :  '  \\'hat  do  yov. 
do,  Mr.  Borland?"  'I  work  in  a  foundry,' says  1. 
'  Oh,  well,'  says  he, '  call  it  five  dollars.'  So  I  yanked 
out  a  !-oll  o'  bills  about  the  size  of  a  hind  quarter  c' 
beef,  an'  I  burrows  till  I  gets  a  five — then  I  gives  ir. 
to  him.  '  How  do  you  come  to  have  a  wad  like  that, 
Mr.  I5orland,'  says  he,  '  if  you  work  in  a  foundry  !> ' 
'  I  own  the  foundry,"  says  I,  restorin'  the  wad'  t(  ■ 
where  most  Scotchmen  carries  their  flask.  '  Oh  ! ' 
says  he,  lookin'  hard  at  the  little  fiver.  '  Oh.  I'll  give 
you  another  toad.skin,' .says  l.'jest  to  show  there',- 
no  hard  feelin'.'  '  Keep  it,'  says  he— an'  he  was. 
laughin'  like  a  guinea  hen, '  keep  it,  an'  buy  a  marble 
monument  for  yourself,  and  put  at  the  bottom  of  it 


11 

r  : 

;! 

t 

1 

f 

'  ■, 

■n 

5l       .    i 


130 


■THE    IVEB    OF    T / M E 


uliat  a  smart  man  you  was,' "  and  David  slapped  his 
knee  afresh  in  gleeful  triumph.  For  the  other-,  too, 
there  was  laughter  and  to  spare  ;  whirh  very  purpose 
David  liad  designed  his  autobi  )graphy  to  accomplish. 

A  moment  later  Madeline  and  her  father  were  at 
the  door,  the  little  circle,  laughing  still,  around  him 
as  they  stepped  without. 

"  You're  a  terrible  one  for  shakin'  hands,  girl," 
David  said  to  his  daughter  as  they  stood  a  moment 
on  the  step.  "  That's  a  habit  I  never  got  much  into 
me."  For  Madeline's  farewell  had  had  much  of 
meaning  in  it,  the  sweet  face  suffused  with  sympathy 
as  she  shook  hands  with  all — the  modier  first,  then 
Jessie,  then  Harvey — and  the  low  voice  had  drop'  .d 
a  word  or  two  that  told  the  df^pth  and  sincerity  of 
her  feeling.  When  she  said  good-bye  to  Harvey, 
the  pressure  or  her  hand,  light  and  fluttering  as  it 
was,  found  a  response  so  warm  and  clinging  that  a 
quick  flush  overflowed  her  face,  before  which  the 
other's  fell,  so  striking  was  its  beauty,  so  full  of  deep 
significance  the  message  of  the  strong  and  soulful 
eyes.  Her  father's  child  was  she,  and  the  fascination 
of  sorrow  had  early  touched  her  heart. 

The  door  was  almost  closed  when  David  turned  to 
call  back  lustily: 

"  Oh,  Harvey— Harvey,  :Mr.  Nickle  wants  to  see 
you  ;  Geordie  Nickle,  you  know ;  an'  if  you  come 
round  to  my  office  to-morrow  about  half-past  four, 
I  think  you'll  find  him  there.  He's  got  a  great 
scheme  on ;  he's  the  whitest  man  I  ever  run  acrost,  I 
tliink — for  a  Scotchman." 


XIV 
THE    [VEIGHING   OF   THE    ANCHOR 

SURELY  the  years  love  best  to  ply  their  indus- 
try anionf,'  the  young.  For  two  or  three  of 
them,  each  takin;^  up  the  work  where  its  pred- 
ecessor laid  it  down,  can  transform  a  youth  or 
maiden  to  an  extent  that  is  really  wonderful.  Per- 
haps this  is  becau:,e  the  youn.c;  lend  themselves  so 
cheerfully  to  everythint,'  that  makes  for  change,  and 
re=ent  all  tarrying  on  life's  alluring  way.  They  love 
to  make  swift  calls  at  life's  chief  ports,  so  few  in  num- 
ber though  the}'  be  ;  they  are  impatient  lo  try  the 
open  sea  beyond,  unrecking  that  the  last  harbour  and 
the  long,  long  anchorage  are  all  too  near  at  hand. 

The  difference  that  these  silent  craftsmen  can  soon 
make  upon  a  face  might  have  been  easily  visible  to 
any  observant  e}-c,  had  such  an  eye  been  cast  one 
evening  upon  the  still  unbroken  circle  of  the  Sim- 
niv-....  home.  The  mother  had  changed  but  little ; 
nor  had  anything  changed  to  her — unless  it  w^re 
that  all  upon  which  her  e\-es  had  closed  shone  brighter 
in  the  light  that  menuM-j'  imparts.  Still  holding 
her  secret  hidden  deep,  her  fondness  for  those  left 
to  her  seemed  but  to  deepen  as  the  hope  of  her 
husband's  return  grew  more  and  more  faint  within. 
If   the  hidden  tragedx'  delved  an  ever  deeper  wound 


\}.2 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


1 1 


under  cover  of  her  silence,  it  had  no  outward  token 
but  an  intenser  lov  _  towards  those  from  whom  she 
had  so  long  concealed  it. 

But  Josic  and  Harvey  had  turned  the  lime  to 
good  account.  For  the  former  had  almost  left  behind 
the  stage  of  early  childhood,  merging  ntnv  into  the 
roundness  and  plumpness— and  consciou^ness,  too— 
that  betoken  a  girl's  approach  to  the  sunlit  hills  of 
womanhood. 

Vet    Harvey  had  changed   the  most  of  all.     The 
stalu'art  form   had   taken  to  itself  the  proportions  of 
opening     manhood- -licight,    firmness,    breadth     of 
shoulders,  length    of   limb,  all    made    a    strong   and 
comely  frame.     The  poise  of  the  head  indicatetrrcso- 
lute  activity,  and  the  evening  light  that  now  played 
upon   his   face   revealed  a  countenance  in  which  sin- 
cerity, seriousness,  hopefulness,  might  be  traced  by  a 
practiced   eye.     Humour,  too,  was  there— tliat  twin 
sister  unto  seriousness— maintaining  its  own  place  in 
the  large  eyes  that  had  room  for  other  things  beside  ; 
and  the  glance  that  was  sometimes  turned  upon  the 
autumn  scene  without,  but  oftener  upon  his  mother 
and  his  sister,  was  eloquent  of  much  that  lay  behind. 
The   tuition  of  his  soul   had   left  its  mark  upon  his 
face.     Early  begun  and  relentlessly  continued,  it  had 
taught    him    much    of  life,  of   life's  ways  and  life's 
severities— not  a  little,  too,  of  the  tactics  she  demands 
from  all   who  would   prevail   in  the  stern  battle  for 
which  he  had  been  compelled  so  early  to  enlist.    New 
duties,  unusual  responsibilities,  severe  mental  exercise 
such  as  serious  study  gives,  stern  self-denial,  constant 


'^m^ 


WEIGHING    of     The    ASCliOK       133 

thou^iit  of  others,  thc-^c  liud  conspired  to  proxidc  the 
inunl)  scriuLisncss  ujjon  the  ^till  ahiio.-^l  l)o\  i.>h  lace. 

Autiinin  reigned  without,  as  ha^  been  alieady  said, 
antl  111  lobes  of  gold.  Glowinc;  and  i;loriou.>,  the  oak 
and  l!ie  ehu  and  the  maple  wrapt  in  bridal  i^Mr- 
r.ienl-,,  t4lad  nature  went  onward  to  her  death,  mule 
l)receptress  to  paj^^an  Ch.ri-tians  as  to  how  they  too 
sht)uld  ihe. 

A  L^raver  autumn  rei_L;ned  within.  For  the  httle 
circle  wd--  to  be  broken  on  the  morrow,  and  the  hum- 
ble iiome  was  pa>>in_;^  throuj^h  one  of  eartli's  truest 
cri.-es,  ;4i\irit^f  up  an  inmate  to  tiie  storm  and  peril  of 
th.e  ;jjreat  world  without.  The  world  itself  ma\- 
snnlc,  .>tretchin<,'  forth  indifferent  hands  to  receive  the 
outgoing;  life;  what  cares  the  ocean  for  another 
sw'mmcr  a-  he  joins  the  struL^i^ling  throni;-  ? — but  was 
the  surrender  ever  made  witliout  tumuU  and  secret 
tears  ? 

•'  Look,  look,"  Jessie  cried,  as  she  turned  her  face 
a  moment  from  the  pane ;  "  there  goes  Cecil  and 
Madeline— I  nruess  he's  taking  her  for  a  farewell 
drive." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Harvey  joined  his  sister  at  the 
window. 

"Is  M.idelinc  with  him?"  he  said,  throwing  quite 
an  unusual  note  of  carelessness  into  the  words. 

"  \'es,  that's  the  second  time  they've  driven  past 
here— at  least,  I'm  almost  sure  it  was  them  before," 
Jessie  averred,  straining  her  neck  a  little  to  follow  the 
disappearing  carriage. 

"  I  wonder  what  he'll  do  with  his  horse  when  he's 


n4 


■THE    IVEB    Of    TIME 


I  M 


ni  ,i 


4' 


i 


I 


■•  < 


PI 


aua}',"  Harvey  pursued,  bent  on  an  irrelevant  theme, 
and  thankful  that  the  light  was  dim.  The  inward 
riot  that  disturbed  him  would  have  been  much  al- 
layed could  he  have  known  that  the  parade  before 
their  door  was  of  Madeline's  own  contrivin- ;  pre- 
suming, that  is,  that  he  understood  the  combination 
ot  the  woman- heart. 

••  Doesn't  it  seem  strange,  Harvey,  that  >ou  and 
Cecil  should  start  for  the  University  the  very  same 
da)-  ?— he's  going  on  the  same  train  in  the  morning, 
isn't  he.'"  enquired  Jessie,  her  eyes  abandoning 
their  pursuit. 

"I  think  so,"  her  brother  answered  carelessly. 
"  Jessie,"  he  digressed  decisively,  ••  I  want  you  to 
promise  me  something.  I'm  going  to  write  you  a 
letter  every  week,  and  I  want  you  to  take  and  read 
It— or  nearly  all  of  it;  sometimes  there'll  be  bits  you 
can't-to  Mr.  Nickle.  If  it  weren't  for  him-for  him 
and  Mr.  Borland— I  wouldn't  be  going  to  college  at 
all,  as  you  know." 

^  "That  I  will,"  the  sister  answered  heartily;  "I 
think  he's  just  the  dearest  old  man.  And  l'  can 
manage  it  easily  enough— there's  hardly  a  day  but 
he  comes  into  the  store  to  buy  something.  He  and 
Mr.  Borland  always  seem  to  be  wanting  something 
something  that  we've  always  got.  too.  They  must 
eat  an  awful  lot  of  sweet  stuffbetween  them  And 
ever\-  time  Mr.  Nickle  comes  in.  he  says  :  '  Vv'eel, 
hoo's  the  scholarship  laddie  the  day  ?  '—he's  awfully 
proud  about  you  getting  the  scholarship.  Har\ey." 
Her  brother's  face  brightened.     "  Well  there's  one 


iM7. 


^^MmW^ 


'f  '--WP^'^ 


UEIGH/NG    of    The    ANCHOR      xy, 

thing  I'm  migluy  giad  of,"  he  said,  "and  that  i=  that 
I  won't  be  very  much  of  a  charge  for  my  first  year  at 
any  rate— that  hundred  and  fifty  will  heli)  to  see  mc 
through." 

"But  you  mustn't  stint  yourself,  ila.vcy,"  the 
mother  broke  in  with  tender  tone.  "  Yuu  must  get 
a  nice  comfortable  place  to  board  in,  and  have  a  good 
warm  bed — and  lots  of  good  nourishing  things  to 
eat.  I  know  I'll  often  be  waking  up  in  the  night  and 
wondering  if  you're  cold.  Do  you  know,  dear,"  -he 
went  un,  her  voice  trembling  a  little,  "  we've  never 
been  a  night  separated  since  you  were  born — it's 
going  to  be  hard  for  a  while,  I'm  afraid,"  she  said  a 
little  brokenly  as  the  yr.uth  nestied  down  beside  her, 
his  head  resting  on  her  lap  as  in  the  old  childhood 
days. 

"  It'll  be  harder  for  me,  mother,"  he  said;  "  but  I 
think  I'd  be  almost  happy  if  you  were  well  again.  It 
nearly  breaks  ni)-  heart  to  think  of  leaving  you  here 
in— in  the  dark,"  he  concluded,  his  ar:,.  stealing 
fondly  about  her  neck. 

The  woman  bended  low  to  his  caress.  "  Don't, 
Harvey— you  mustn't.  It's  not  the  dark— it's  ne\-er 
dark  where  Christ  abide.-,,"  she  broke  out  with  a  fcr. 
vour  tliat  almost  startled  him,  for  it  was  but  rarely 
that  siiC  spoke  like  this.  "  I've  got  so  much  to 
thank  God  for,  my  son — it's  always  light  where  love 
makes  it  light.  And  I'm  so  proud  and  happy  that 
you're  going  to  get  the  chance  you  need,  Mar\ey. 
Oh,  but  He's  been  good  to  my  little  ones,"  she 
cried,  her  voice  thrilling  with  the  note  of  real  grati- 


i' 


i  ■;6 


■THE    iVEB    OF    TIME 


1 


tilde  that  is  licard,  strangely  enough,  only  from  those 
•-vho  sit  among  the  shadows.  The  noblest  notes  of 
praise  have  come  from  lips  of  pain. 

"You'll  '.vritc  to  mc,  won't  you,  mother  ?_you'll 
*:11  Jessie  what  to  say,  and  it'll  be  almost  like  getting 
it  from  yourself." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered  quickly,  "  and  I'll  always 
be  able  to  sign  my  name.  And  if  y(ni're  ever  in 
trouble,  Harvey— or  if  you're  ever  tempted— and 
that's  sure  to  come  m  a  great  city  like  the  one 
jou're  going  to— remember  your  mothers  praying 
lor  you.  I'm  laid  aside,  I  know,  my  son,  and  tliere's 
not  much  now  that  I  can  do;  but  there's  o  ,-  thing 
left  to  me— I  have  the  throne  of  grace;  ^i:  ;  ..  any 
one  knows  its  comfort,  surely  it's  your  mother." 

"  Mother,  won't  you  tell  me  something  ?  '  he  inter- 
rupted decisively-. 

"  What  is  it,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Isn't  there  something  else,  mother— some  other 
sorrow,  I  mean— that  I  don't  know  about  ?  I've  had 
a  feeling  for  a  long  time  that  there  was— was  some- 
thing else." 

The  mother  was  long  in  answering.  lUit  she 
raised  her  hand  and  drew  his  arm  tighter  about  her 
neck,  the  protecting  love  very  sweet.  "  There's 
nothing  but  what  I  get  grace  to  bear— don't  ask 
me  more,  my  child,"  and  as  she  spoke  the  bending 
boy  felt  the  hot  tears  begin  to  fall.  They  soon  came 
thick  and  fast,  for  the  mother's  heart  was  melting 
within  her,  and  as  he  felt  the  sacred  drops  upon  his 
head  the  son's  soul  rose  up  in  purpose  and  devotion, 


WEIGHING    of    The    ANCHOR      137 

making  its  solemn  vow  that  he  would  be  worthy  of 
a  love  so  great. 

The  evening  wore  away,  every  hour  precious  to 
them  all.  Very  simple  and  homely  w  ere  the  counsels 
that  tell  from  the  mother's  lips  ;  that  he  must  be  care- 
ful about  making  new  acquaintances,  especially  such 
as  would  haii  him  on  the  street,  and  speak  his  name, 
and  cite  his  friends  in  witness — they  doubtless  all 
knew  about  the  scholarsiiip  money  ;  that  he  must 
study  with  his  light  behind  him — not  in  front— and 
never  later  than  half-past  ten  ;  that  a  couple  of 
pairs  of  stockings,  at  the  \ery  least,  must  alwa}s  be 
on  hand  in  case  of  wet  feet  and  resultant  colds  ; 
that  if  cold  in  bed,  he  must  ask  fur  extra  covering 
—  he  simply  must  not  be  afraid  to  ask  for  what  he 
wants  ;  that  he  must  be  very  careful  on  those  crowded 
city  streets,  especially  of  the  electric  cars  ;  that  in 
case  of  illness  he  mi  -legraph  immediatel)-,  re- 
gardless of  expense  ;  that  he  must  not  forsake  the 
Bible-class  on  Sabbatli  afternoons,  but  find  one  there 
and  enroll  himself  at  once  ;  that  he  must  accept 
gladly  if  fine  people  asked  him  to  their  homes, 
carmg  nothing  though  other  students  may  be  better 
dressed  than  he— they  didn't  get  the  scholarship, 
anyhow. 

And  Harvey  promised  all.  More  than  likely  that 
he  took  the  admonitions  lightly  ;  he  was  not  so  much 
concerned  with  them  as  with  the  conflicting  emotions 
that  posse.ssed  him,  eager  joy  that  the  battle  was 
about  to  begin  in  earnest  and  veaniin<7  svmpathv 
for  the  devoted  hearts  he  was  to   leave  behind.     If 


*^c 


138 


■THE    U'EB    OF    TIME 


II 


1!     !e 


all  to  uhicli  he  was  ^roing  lorth  loomed  before  him 
as  a  battle,  it  was  as  a  delicious  battle,  whose  proces. 
should  be  perpetual  pleasure,  its  issue  decisi\c 
vicluiy.  Xo  thought  of  its  real  peril,  its  subtle 
coniliet,  its  despairing  hours,  marred  the  prospect 
ot  the  beckoning  years  ;  he  knew  not  how  he  wouid 
yet  re\i,>e  his  estimates  as  to  who  are  our  real  ene- 
mies, nor  did  he  dream  that  his  fiercest  foes  wouid 
be  found  within— and  that  the  battle  of  inward  living 
IS,  after  all  has  been  said  and  done,  the  battle  of  lile 
Itself. 

"  And   now,  my  children,"  the  mother  said  at  la>t 
when    the  evening  was  far  spent,  ••  \kc\\  better  go  to 
our  rest,   for  we'll  need  to  be  ui)  early  in  the  morn- 
ing.    Jiut  I  want  to  have  a  little  prater  with  )•<  a  be- 
lore   we   part— we'll  just  kneel  here  ;  '    and  she  sank 
beside  her  chair,  an  arm  about  either  child.     It  was 
quite   dark,   for   none  seemed  to  wish  a  light— they 
knew  it  could  add  nothing  to  the  mother's  vision— 
and    in    simple,   earnest    words,  sometimes  checking 
witli  the  emotion  she  could  not  control,  she  com- 
mitted  her  treasures   to  her  God.     "  Oh,  keep  hi.s 
youthful    feet,   our   lather,"   the   trustful   voice   im- 
plored, "  and  never  let  uiem  wander  from  the  path  : 
help  him   in   his  studies  and  strengthen  him  in  his 
soul— and  keep  us  here  at  home  in  'Ihy  blessed  care, 
and  let  us  all  meet  again.     For  Jesus'  sake." 

The   light— that  light  that  they  enjoy  who  need 

no   candle's   glow— was   about   them   as   thev  arose, 

the  mothe   s  hand  in  Jessie's  as  they  turned  away. 

-^  ^odj^iii  luc  .-iiieiter  of  tne  room  that  was  sc 


m 


U^EIGHING    of    7/ic    y^  \ C H O R      i  ^q 

soon  io  be  hi-s  no  more.  I  Ic  closed  the  door  a-  he 
entercil,  falHng  on  his  knees  beside  the  bed  to  echo 
his  mother's  prayer.  Then  he  hurriedly  undressed 
and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

It  was  hours  after,  the  silent  ni^ht  hurryin;^'  towards 
the  dawn,  when  he  -iddenl}-  awoke,  somewhat 
startled.  For  he  felt  a  hand  upon  hi,>  brow,  a.-id  tlie 
clothes  were  ti^ht  about  him.  Looking  up,  he  dmily 
di-ccrned  his  mother's  face,  white-robed,  she  wa.s 
bending  over  him. 

"Don't  be  fnghtc.ed,  Harvey;  go  to  sleep,  dear 
— it's  only  me.  I  wanted  to  tuck  you  in  once  more, 
like  I  used  to  do  when  you  were  little.  Oh,  Harvey," 
and  a  half  cry  escaped  her  as  she  bent  down  and 
put  her  arms  about  him,  "  I  don't  know  how  to  give 
you  up — but  go  to  sleep,  dear,  go  to  sleep." 

But  Harvey  was  now  wide  awake,  clinging  to  his 
mother.  "  Don't  go,"  he  said,  "  stay  with  me  a 
little." 

There  was  a  long  silence.     At  last  Harvev  -ooke  : 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  moth'-r  ?  " 

The  woman  drew  her  shawl  tighter  about  her 
shoulders  and  settled  herself  on  the  ijed.  ••  !  think 
I'll  tell  you,  Harvey,"  she  said  in  a  whisper;  "it 
seems  easier  to  tell  y. -u  in  the  dark — and  when 
Jessie's  asleep." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly.  "  Is  it  anything 
that's  hard  to  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my    son,   it's  hard  to  tell— but   T  tamk   I 
ought  to  tell  it.     Are  you  wide  awake,  Harvc}-  ?  " 
"  Yes,  mother.     What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  agam. 


'    t 


Hi 


I) 


140 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


"Do  you  remember,  IIarvey,the  night  you  went 
to  join  the  church  ?— and  how  I   walked   with  you 
as   far  as  the  door?_and  uc  went  into  the  cemetery 
together  ?     Don't  you  remember,  Marvey  ?  " 
'•  Yes,  mother,  of  course  I  do.     Jkit  w  liy  ?  " 
'•  Can  you  remember  liow,  when  ne  were  stancl.ng 
at  the  baby'^  grave,  you   asked  me  u  h>'  yo.u-  tathcT 
never  joined  the  church,  and  I  said  he  didn't  think 
he  was  good  enough— and  you  asked  me  wh>-,  and  I 
said  I'd  tell  you  some  time.     Do  you  remember  that, 
my  son  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Harvey  answered  slowly,  his  mind  working 

fast. 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  now.  Your  father 
was  so  good  to  me,  Harvey— at  least,  nearly  always. 
But  he  used  "—she  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow— 
"  this  is  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you,  Harvey  ;  he  used 
—he  used  to  drink  sometimes." 

The  form  beside  her  lay  still  as  death.  "  Some- 
times he  used  to— wc  were  so  happy,  till  that  began. 
And  oh,  Harvey,  nobody  can  ever  know  what  a 
dreadful  struggle  it  is,  till  they've  seen  it  as  I  saw  it. 
For  he  loved  you,  my  son,  he  loved  you  and  Jessie 
like  his  own  soul— and  it  was  the  company  he  got  into 
—and  some  discouragements— and  things  like  that, 
that  were  to  blame  for  it.  l^ut  the  struggle  was  ter- 
rible, Harvey— like  fighting  with  one  of  those  dread- 
ful snakes  that  winds  itself  about  3'ou.  And  I  could 
do  so  little  to  help  him." 

She  could  feel  his  breath  coming  fast,  his  lips  al- 
most against  her  cheek.     A  little  tremor  preceded 


«iK'5--%'?^^^1P?T=:=-r**^ 


T^ItI^^^^FT 


WEIGHING    of    -J he    ANCHOR      141 

his  question.  "  Was  he— was  father  all  i-i<;ht  when 
he  died?" 

It  was  well  he  could  not  see  the  telJ-tale  lips,  nor 
catch  the  quiver  that  wrung  the  suffering  face.  "  Oh, 
Harvey,"  she  began  tremblingly,"  I  asked  you  never 
to  speak  of  that — it  hurts  me  so.  And  I  wanted  to 
tell  you,  "  she  hurried  evasively  on,  "  that  his  own 
lather  had  the  same  failing  before  him.  And  I'm  so 
frightened,  Harvey,  so  frightened — about  you — \ou 
know  it  often  descends  from  father  to  son.  And 
when    I   think  of  you   all   aKjne  in  the  big  city — oh, 

Harvey,    I    want    you    to "    and    the    rest    was 

smothered  in  sobs  as  the  sorrow-riven  bosom  rose  and 
fell,  the  tears  streaming  from  the  sightless  eyes. 

Both  of  Harvey's  arms  were  tight  about  his  mother, 
his  broken  voice  whispering  his  vow  with  passionate 
affection. 

"  Never,  mother,  never  ;  I  promise,"  he  murmured. 
"  Oh,  my  mother,  you've  had  so  much  of  sorrow—if 
you  want  me,  I  won't  go  away  at  all.  I'll  stay  and 
take  care  of  you  and  Jessie,  if  you  want  me,  mother," 
the  strong  arms  clinging  tighter.  But  she  hushed 
the  suggestion  with  a  word,  gently  withdrawing  her- 
self and  kissing  him  good-night  again. 

"  Go  to  sleep,  my  son."  she  said  gently  ;  "  )'ou've 
got  a  long  journey  before  you."  and  he  knew  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  words ;  "  God  has  given  m»  far  more 
of  joy  than  sorrow,"  as  she  felt  her  way  to  the  door 
and  onwards  to  her  room. 

Long  he  lay  awake,  engulfed  in  a  very  tumult  of 
thoughts  and  memories;  finally  he  fell  into  a  rest- 


■  I 


!       * 


lit 


142 


THE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


less    slumber.     Ihe  day   was  dimly  breaking  when 
he  suddenly  awoke,  thinking  he  heard  a  noise.     Steal- 
ing  from   his   bed,  he  crept  across  the  room,  peering 
towards  his  mother's,     lie  could  see  her  in  the  un- 
certain  light;  she  was   bendmg  over  his  trunk  the 
object  of  her  solicitude  for  many  a  previous  day.'and 
her  hands  were    evidently    groping    for    somethmg 
within.     Soon   they   reappeared,  and  he   could  see  a 
l^ible  in  them,  new  and  beautiful.     She  had  a  pen  in 
one   hand,  and   for  a  moment  she  felt  about  the  ad- 
joining  table  for  the  ink-well  she  knew  was  there 
1' Hiding  It,  the  poor  ill-guided  pen  sought  the  fly-leaf 
ot  the  book  she  held  ;  it  took  long,  but  it  was  love's 
labour  and  was  done  with  care.     She  waited  till  the 
ink  was  dry,  then  closed  the  volume,  kissed  it  with 
longing  tenderness  and  replaced  it  in  the  trunk.     Ris- 
ing, she  made  her  way  to  a  chest  of  drawers,  opened 
one  or  two  before  her  hands  fell  on  what  she  wanted 
and  then  produced  a  little  box  carefully  wrapped  in 
oilcloth.     Some  little  word  she  scrawled  upon  it,  and 
the  unpretentious  parcel— only  some  simple  luxury 
that    a   mothers  love   had   provided   against  sterner 
days— was  deposited  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  trunk'. 
She  closed  the  lid  and  kneeled  reverently  beside  the 
now  waiting  token  of  departure  ;   Harvey  crept  back 
to   h,s   bed  again,  his  sight  well-nigh  as  dim  as  hers. 
When  the  little  family  gathered  the  ne.xt  mv  nin^ 
at  the  breakfast-table  the  mother's  face  bore  a  look 
ot   deep  content,  as   if  some  burden  had  been  taken 
from  her  mind.     And  the  valiant  display  of  cheerful- 
ness on  the  part  of  all  three  was  quite  successful,  each 


T-^-- 


IVEIGHING    of    The    ASCHOR.      143 

m;irvclling  at  the  sprif^htlincss  of  the  other  two. 
Tlicy  were  just  in  the  middle  of  tlic  meal  when  the 
tinkling  bell  called  Jessie  to  the  shop.  A  moment 
later  she  rctuined,  bearing  a  resplendent  cluster  of 
roses.  "  They're  for  you,  I  larvey,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
think  it's  a  great  shame— boys  never  care  anything 
for  flowers.  They  ought  to  be  for  me."  l^ut  she 
did  not  hand  them  to  her  brother,  nor  did  he  seem  to 
expect  them.  I*"or  she  walked  straight  to  the  mother's 
chair,  holding  them  before  her;  and  the  patient  face 
sank  among  them,  drinking  deep  of  their  rich  fra- 
grance. 

"  Who  sent  them,  Jessie?"  her  brother  asked  with 
vigorous  brevity. 

"  I  don't  know— the  boy  wouldn't  tell.  I  f  e  said 
'  ^  P'i''ty '  Rave  him  ten  cents  to  hand  them  in— and 
the  party  didn't  want  the  name  given.  I  hate  that 
'  party '  business  ;  you  can't  tell  whether  it's  a  man 
or  a  woman.  I  guess  it  wasn't  a  man,  though— look 
at  the  ribbon." 

One  would  have  said  that  Harvey  thought  so  too, 
judging  by  the  light  on  his  face.  "  I'll  take  the 
ribbon,"  he  said,  <■  and  just  one  rose— you  and 
mother  can  have  the  rest." 

"  Then  you're  sure  it  wasn't  a  man  sent  them  ?  " 
returned  the  knowing  Jessie. 

"  No,  I'm  not— what  makes  you  say  that?" 

"  ^^'t;ll — what  are  >-ou  taking  the  ribbon  for,  if 
you're  not?" 

"  Because— because,  well,  because  it's  useful,  for 
one  thing ;  I  can  tie  my  lunch  up  in  it.  or  a  book  or 


i  I 


il 


i; 


:! 


If:   i 


1 


144 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


two— anything  like  that,"  Harvey  repUed,  smihng  at 
his  adroit  defense.  "  Who's  this — why,  if  it  s  not 
Mr.  Xickle  and  Mr.  Borland  !  "  rising  as  he  spoke  to 
greet  the  most  welcome  gucs'.s. 

"  Ye'll  hae  to  pardon  us,  Mis.  Simmons,"  Gcordie's 
clieery  voice  was  the  first  to  say  ;  "  David  here  brocht 
me  richt  through  the  shop,  richt  ben  the  hoose,  wi'oot 
rappin'.  We  wantit  to  say  good-bye  till  the  laddie 
— only  he's  mair  a  man  nor  a  laddie  noo." 

"  It  was  Mr.  Nickle  that  dragged  me  in  by  the 
scuff  o'  the  neck,"  interjected  Mr.  Borland,  nodding 
to  all  the  company  at  once.  "  When  he  smelt  the 
porridge,  you  couldn't  s^-  him  for  dust.  Hello! 
where'd  you  get  the  ro.cs  ?— look  awful  like  the 
vintage  out  at  our  place.  Don't  rise,  Mrs.  Simmons  ; 
we  just  dropped  in  to  tell  Harvey  tra-la-la." 

"  I'm  glad  to  find  ye're  at  the  porridge,  laddie," 
Geordie  said  genially,  as  he  took  the  chair  Jessie  had 
handed  him.  »  The  porridge  laddies  aye  leads  their 
class  at  the  college,  they  tell  me— dinna  let  them 
gie  ye  ony  o'  yon  ither  trash  they're  fixin'  up  these 
days  to  dac  instead  o'  porridge;  there's  naethin'  like 
the  guid  auld  oatmeal." 

"  You  Scotch  folks  give  me  a  pain,"  broke  in 
David  ;  "  how  any  one  can  eat  the  stuff,  I  can't  make 
out.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  believe  Scotchmen  like  it 
themselves— only  it's  cheap,  an'  it  fills  up  the  hired 
men  so  they  can't  eat  anythin'  else.  Unless  it's  be- 
cause their  ancestors  ate  it,"  he  continued  thought- 
fully. "  I'll  bet  my  boots  there's  Scotchmen  in 
Glenallen  that's  eatin'  porridge  to-day  jest  because 


IVE/GH/NG    of    The    ANCHOR      145 

their  grandfathers  ate  it;  an'  they'll  put  it  down  if  it 
kills  'em— an'  their  kids'U  eat  it  too  or  else  they'll 
know  the  reason  why.  it'd  be  just  the  same  if  it  was 
bran— they'd  have  to  walk  the  plank.  But  there 
ain't  no  horse  blood  in  me,  thank  goodness,"  he 
concluded  fervently. 

"  Jealousy's  an  awfu'  sair  disease,"  retorted  Geordie, 
smiling  pitifully  at  the  alien  ;  "  but  we  canna  a'  bJ 
Scotch." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came  in,  Harvey  began,  turn- 
ing to  his  visitors  as  the  laughter  subsided ;  "  we 
were  just  speaking  of  your  kindness  last  night— and 
I'm  glad  to  have  a  chance  to  thank  you  again  just 
before  I  go  away." 

"  Stap  it,"  Geordie  interrupted  sternly.  "  That's 
plenty  o'  that  kind  o'  thing— I'll  gang  oot  if  there's 
ony  mair,  mind  ye,"  he  declared  vehemently,  for  there 
are  few  forms  of  pain  more  intolerable  to  natures 
such  as  his. 

"  You'll  have  to  be  careful.  Harvey,"  cautioned 
Mr.  liorland ;  "  he's  one  o'  the  kind  that  don't  want 
their  left  hand  to  know  the  stunt  their  right  hand's 
doin'.  Very  few  Scotchmen  likes  the  left  hand  to 
get  next  to  what  the  right  one's  at— it  wouldn't 
know  much,  poor  thing,  in  the  most  o'  cases,"  he 
added  pitifully—'*  but  our  friend  here's  a  rare  kind 
of  a  Scotchman.  By  George,  them's  terrible  fine 
roses,"  he  digressed,  taking  a  whiff  of  equine  pro- 
portions. 

"  I  canna  gan-  till  the  station  wi'  ye,  Harvey- 
David's  gaein',"  said  Geordie  Nickle,  taking  his  staff 


' 


146 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


.1  i 


and  rising  to  his  feet,  "  but  guid-bye,  my  laddie,  an' 
the  blessin'  o'  yir  mither's  God  be  \vi'  ye,"  and  the 
kindly  hand  was  unconsciously  laid  on  Harvey's 
head.  "  We're  expectin'  graun'  things  o'  ye  at  the 
college.  I  mind  fine  the  mornin'  I  left  my  faither's 
hoose  in  Hawick  ;  he  aye  lifted  the  tune  himsel'  at 
f'.mily  worship— an'  that  mornin',  I  mind  the  way 
his  voice  was  quaverin'.     These  was  the  words : 


•  Oh,  spread  Thy  coverin'  wings  around 
Till  all  our  wanderin's  cease,' 


an'  I  dinna  ken  onythin'  better  for  yirsel'  the  day. 
Guid-bye,  my  laddie— an'  '  a  stoot  heart  tae  a  steep 
brae,'  ye  ken." 

As  Harvey  returned  from  seeing  the  old  man  to 
the  door,  Jessie  beckoned  him  aside  into  his  room, 
not  yet  set  to  rights  after  his  fitful  slumbers  of  the 
night  before. 

"  Harvey,"  she   began   in  very  serious  tones,  "  i 

only  want  to  say  a  word ;  it's  to  give  a  promise 

and  to  get  one.  And  I  want  you  to  promise  me 
faithfully,  Harvey." 

"What  is  it,  sister?"  he  asked,  his  gaze  resting 
fondly  on  the  girlish  face. 

"  Well,  it's  just  this.  You  see  this  room  ?  "  I  larvey 
nodded.  "  And  this  bed  ?— you  know  I'm  going  to 
have  your  room  after  you're  gone.  Well,  it's  about 
mother— I'm  going  to  pray  for  her  here  every  night  ; 
right  licre,"  touching  the  side  of  the  bed  as  she  spoke. 
"  Dr.  Fletcher  said  it  would  be  sure  to  help— I  mean 


'''^'XLl. 


i^i' 


IVEIGHING    o/The    ANCHOR        147 


for  her  sight  to 


back  again ;  I  asked  him  once 


come 
at  Sunday-school." 

"  The  doctor  in  the  city  told  me  that,  too,"  broke 
in  her  brother. 

"  Dr.  Fletcher  knows  better'n  him,"  the  other  de- 
clared firmly — "  he  said  God  made  lots  o'  people  see 
because  other  people  prayed.  An'  I  want  you  to 
always  ask  the  same  thing — at  die  same  time, 
Harvey,  at  the  very  same  time ;  an'  when  I'm  asking 
here,  I'll  know  you're  doing  the  very  same  wherever 
you  are.     You'll  promise  me,  won't  you,  Harvey?" 

Harvey's  heart  was  t  uU ;  and  the  unsteadiness  that 
marked  liis  words  was  not  from  any  lack  of  sympathy 
and  purpose.  "  What  time,  Jessie?  "  he  asked  in  a 
moment.     ••  Would  eight  o'clock  be  a  good  time  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  the  girl  said  after  pondering  a 
moment.  "  You  see,  I'll  often  be  in  bed  at  eight — 
I'm  going  to  work  very  hard,  you  know.  I  think 
half-past  seven  would  be  better." 

Thus  was  the  solemn  tryst  arranged,  and  Harvey 
bade  his  sister  good-bye  before  he  passed  without 
for  the  la.-,t  farewell  to  his  mother. 

No  tears,  no  outward  sign,  marked  the  emotion  of 
the  soulful  moment,  and  soon  Harvey  and  Mr.  ]^or- 
land  had  started  for  the  station.  Once,  and  only  once, 
did  the  j-outh  look  behind  ;  and  he  saw  his  mother's 
tender  face,  unseeing,  but  still  turned  in  wistful  j-earn- 
ing  towards  her  departing  son.  Jessie  was  cling- 
ing to  her  skirts,  her  face  hidden — but  the  mother's 
was  bright  in  its  strength  and  hopefulness,  and  the 
image  sank  into  his  heart,  never  to  be  effaced. 


B 


148 


THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


i 


It  was  evident,  from  the  long  silence  he  preserved 
that  David  was   reflecting  upon  things  in  general.' 
Harvey  was  com.  ig  to  understand  him  prett)-  well 
and  knew  that  the  product  would   be  forthcoming 
shortly.     Nor  was  he  disappointed. 

"  They're  great  on  givin'  advice,  ain't  the}-  ?  " 
"  Who  ?  "  enquired  Harvey,  smiling  in  ad  mce 
"  Ihem  Scotch  folks-they'd  like  awful  well  to  be 
omnipotent,  wouldn't  they?  Ifs  pretty  nigh  the 
only  thing  they  think  they  lack.  It  s  great  fun  to 
hear  a  Scotchman  layin'  down  the  law  ;  they  don't 
see  no  use  in  havin'  ten  commandments  unless  they're 
kept—by  other  people." 

"You're  not  referring  to  Mr.  Nickle.  are  you  ?  " 
ventured  Harvey. 

"  Oh,  no  !  bless  my  soul.  Geordie's  all  wool  and 
sixteen  ounces  to  the  pound,"  responded  Mr.  Borland 
prodigal  of  his  metaphors.  "  That's  what  set  me 
thinkin'  of  Scotchmen  in  general,  'cause  they're  so 
different  from  Geordie.  That  was  an  elegant  pro- 
gramme he  fired  at  you  there;  whafs  this  it  was 
again  ?— oh,  yes,  '  when  it's  stiff  climbin',  keep  >our 
powder  dry'— somethin'  like  that,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  He  gave  it  the  Scotch,"  answered  Harvey    "  -  a 
stoot  heart  tae  a  steep  brae,'  I  think  it  was." 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  affirmed  David.  "  an'  it's  a 
bully  motto.  It's  mine,"  he  avowed,  turning  and 
looking  gravely  at  Harvey.  <■  I  heard  a  fellow  ad- 
vertisin'  a  nigger  show  onct ;  he  was  on  top  of  the 
tavern  sheds,  with  a  megaphone.  '  If  you  can't 
laugh,  don't  come.'  he  was  bellerin'_an'  I  thought  it 


I 


1 


iVEIGHING   of    The    ANCHOR      149 

was  elegant  advice.  Kind  o'  stuck  to  nie  all  these 
year.  You  take  it  yourself,  boy,  an'  act  on  it— you'll 
have  lots  of  hard  ploucrhiu'  ature  you're  through." 

"  It  suits  me  all  right,"  Harvey  responded  cheer- 
fully ;  "  they  say  laughter's  good  medicine." 

"  Ihe  very  best — every  one  should  have  a  hogshead 
a  day  ;  it  washes  out  your  insidcs,  j-ou  see.  It  a  man 
can't  laugh  loud,  he  ain't  a  good  man,  I  say.  I  was 
talkin'  about  that  to  Robert  AlcCaig  the  other  day— 
you  know  him,  he's  the  elder— terrible  nice  man  he 
was,  too,  till  he  got  religion— an'  then  he  took  an 
awful  chill.  By  and  b)-  he  got  to  be  an  elder— an' 
then  he  froze  right  to  the  bottom.  Well,  he's  agin 
laughin'— says  it's  frivolous,  you  see.  I  told  him  the 
solemncst  people  was  the  frivolousest— used  the  rich 
fool  for  an  illustration  ;  he  was  terrible  solemn,  but 
iie  was  a  drivellin'  gut  inside,  to  my  way  o'  thinkin'. 
Robert  up  an'  told  me  we  don't  read  of  the  Apostle 
Paul  ever  laughin'— thought  he  had  me.  What  do 
you  think  I  gave  him  back?" 

"  Couldn't  imagine,"  said  Harvey,  quite  truthfully. 
"  '  That  don't  prove  nothin','  says  I ;  «  we  don't 
ever  read  of  him  takin'  a  bath,  or  gettin'  his  hair  cut,' 
says  I,  '  but  it  was  him  that  said  godliness  was  next 
to  cleanliness.'  An'  Robert  got  mad  about  it— that's 
how  I  knew  I  had  him  beat.  He  said  I  was  irrever- 
ent—but that  ain't  no  argyment,  is  it  ?"  appealed 
David  seriously. 

His  companion's  opinion,  doubtless  favourable,  was 
hindered  of  expression  by  the  snort  of  the  approach- 
ing  locomotive,  signal  for  a  sprint  that  was  rather 


ISO 


•THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


vigorous  for  further  exchange  of  views.     There  was 
barely  time  for  the  purchase  of  a  ticket  and  the  check- 
ing of  the  trunk,  the  conductor  already  standing  with 
one  eye  on  the  baggage  truck  and  the  other  on  the 
grimy  figure  that  protruded  from  the  engine  wmdow. 
"  I  ain't  Scotch,"  David  said  hurriedly,  ts  he  and 
Harvey  stood  together  at  the  rear  platform  of  the 
train,  "  but  I  had  a  father,  for  all  that,  just  the  same 
as  all  them  Sandys  seem  to  have.     An'  when  I  was 
pikin'  out  to  find  the  trail— it's  a  long  time  ago— the 
old  man  stood  just  like  I'm  standin'  here  with  you, 
an'  he  says  to  me :  •  David,'  he  says,  <  trust  in  God  an'' 
do  your  duty.'     An'  I  believe  them's  the  best  runnin' 
orders  on  the  road.     The  old  Sandys  can't  beat  that 
much,  can  they?" 

Harvey  had  no  chance  to  make  reply ;  for  almost 
m  the  same  breath  David  went  on,  thrusting  an  en- 
velope into  his  hand  as  he  spoke :  «  Here's  a 'letter  of 
interduction  I  want  you  to  present  to  a  fellow  in  the 
city-he's  the  teller  in  the  Merchants'  Bank,  an'  you 
might  find  him  helpful."  David  concluded  with  a 
hemispheric  grin  ;  "  hope  you'll  endorse  my  sugges- 
tion," he  added,  the  grin  becoming  spherica!. 

Harvey  tried  to  protest  as  best  he  could,  protest 
and  gratitude  mingling;  but  the  train  was  already 
moving  out  and  his  communications  were  chi  y  in 
tableau. 

"  That's  all  right,"  David  roared  above  the  din  ; 
"  good-bye,  my  boy.  Remember  Geordie  Nickle's 
motto— an'  don't  blow  out  the  gas." 


i|i  i 


XV 
A    PARENTAL    PARLEY 


«t 


B 


ETTER  eat  all  you  can,  Madeline;  you 
can't  never  tell  when  you're  goin'  to  have 
your  la.st  square  meal  these  days,"  and 
David  deposited  another  substantial  helping  on  his 
daughter's  plate. 

"  Why,  father,  what's  the  matter  ?  What's  making 
you  so  despondent  all  of  a  sudden  ?  "  Madeline  asked 
in  semi-seriousness,  following  her  father's  at'vice  the 
while. 

"  ■^'ou  don't  understand  your  father,  Madeline — 
he's  .vays  joking,  you  know,"  interjected  Mrs.  Bor- 
lar  "  You  shouldn't  make  light  of  such  solemn 
matters,  David,"  she  went  on,  turning  to  her  hus- 
band. "  hunger's  nothing  to  jest  about." 

'•  Exactly  what  I  was  sayin',"  responded  David. 
"  an'  if  things  goe^  on  like  they  promise  now,  you  an' 
Madelme'U  have  to  take  in  washin'  to  support  this 
family— that's  the  gospel  truth." 

"  I  don't  believe  father's  in  fun/'  Madeline  per- 
sisted. "  Anything  go  wrong  to-day  with  business 
mattCi-s?"  she  enquired,  looking  across  the  table  at 
her  father. 

That  David  was  in  earnest  was  obvious  enough. 
"  Everythin's  wrong,  appearin'ly,"  he  said,  rolling  up 


] 


Pi 


1^2 


THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


gon    to  stnkc     scenes  to  n.c  there,  a  stn.     .,,../ 
other  alternate  day,"  he  went  on.     .<  Doin' b.    ,-;.; 
nowadays,  hke  a  b.rdt:y,n- to  hatch  out  c,^:; 
hey  re  cutt.n'  down  the  tree-.so„,c  o' the.t  d  /  ■ 

^^^^;;What^dothen,e^ 

Mn  Borland  looked  at  her  mcreduloush^     ■<  ;' 'i^at 
do   they   want-the   same    old    thin,   th'ey've   b  en 
uantin  ever  since  Adam  went  int.  t'?.  f    >  ^ 
—less  ivr.rL.    „•  ^'''-  '""'t  business 

co2rrr  "'"'''"^-     '\"'h'-y>.  appointed  a 
c   ims      ""'"'f^'""--  P-a.eiy  an'  pr.,„,t  ,|,eir 

d" .  iir:;  ;r"""""'  ""^'-"'s'.'.  They 

carnal."  "^   ""   "'"■"-'   i«'   '-  ^d    ■' 

^^^■'  To-night !  ■■  echoed  Mrs.  Borland,  ■•  where'll  they 

"  Chairs,  I  reckon,    .  ,plied  her  spouse. 
^  ou  re  so  facetious,   David.     Where'll   thev  s,t 
whe„theyreta,.,„,,oyouP_y„u,.no...';;Ll 
"Oh,    I    reclcon    we'll   have   it  out  ,n  the  den 

■';■  : '?  "'e^-'-'-'.-joou-.  r„,  'o.  ;;7 


A    PARENTAL    PARLEY  153 

;•  Voure    very    gay    about    ,t,    father,"    Madel.ne 
t^^'    ".na..,.,     _,     .,,,     ,,^    ,„^,^^^ 

"There's  no  use  o'  be.n'  gay  when  ever>'th.n  -  all 
ngln^  daughter     that     L^c  turnn.  o„  the  ^.ht  wh. 
U  .  twcve  o  c  ock  noon,     l^ut  uhen  things  is  break^n' 

^P  on  you   then  ,  your  tune  to  cut  up  dog  a  httle 
m  a  tcrnblc   behever   ,n    sunsh.ne.  Madehne-tl'e 
home.nu.de   k.nd.   in   part.cular.     I   ahvays   tell   the 
roakers  that  every  m.n  should  have  a  sunshine  plan 
HMde  of  hun^when  the  outsMe  k.nd  g.ves  out.  why 
ia  h.m  start  his  httle  null  inside,  an'  then  he's  uule-' 
penxlentasap,g.„.ce.     An    really,  .fs  k.nd  o' nat- 
ural-there s  nothu.'  so  refresh.n-  as  difficulties,  .n  a 

era.nsense      Lea.tuays.thafsthekmdofa,:an. 

na    I  am_when   I'm  on  the  turf,  g.ve  me  a  hurdle 
"ow  an  aga.a  t.j  make  it  interestin'  ' 
J  Is  this  a  pretty  stiff  business  hurdle  youve  gut  to 
K^t  over  no jv?"  asked    Madeline,  as  she  smiled  ad- 
miringly at  the  home-!  red  ph-losoph)- 

••  Well    ts  strfenough.    Cif  course,  I've  done  prettv 
go<^m^heAnmdry_Hnt...tformyhealtl.'i;^ 

he  fir        ',7^?'"=   •'"'    '■"^^^'  ^'^^   ^"iptur-says 
tlfir.t  shall  be  last-an-  ,t     often  that  way  in  V-L 

ness.     Were  reawy   not   makm'   hardly  any  nu.ney 

th  -  days,  of  course,  .f  you  t.,'  the  men  that,  they 
-they    close  une  eye,'  sa.d  l.avid.  illustrating  the 

Te  -  ::  '?  T':-  "  '''^"^^'  '^^  ^-"  ^'^  ^°-  ^^-de- 
in  o  th.  h  f  ^^/^'■"Pt^>-''-  h-s  daughter  had  passed 
into  the  hall  and  was  putting  on  her  cloak 

••  I  m  gomg  for  my  lesson-I  ,,1  tak.ng  w.,cd-carv- 


154 


7HE   WEB    OF    TIME 


ing,  you  know.  Pretty  soon  I'll  be  able  to  do  it  my- 
self; and  then  I'm  going  to  make  lots  of  pretty  things 
and  sell  them.  My  class  and  I  are  going  to  support 
four  India  famine  children,"  she  ^aid  proudly. 

"  Bully  for  you !  You'll  do  the  carvin',  an'  they'll 
do  the  eatin' — I  suppose  that's  the  idea." 

Madeline's  merry  laughter  was  still  pealing  as  she 
closed  the  door  behind  her.  Mrs.  Borland  turned  a 
rather  fretful  face  to  her  husband. 

♦•  She's  taken  a  class  in  Sunday-school,"  she  said, 
lifting  her  eyebrows  to  convey  some  idea  of  her 
opinion  on  the  subject.  "  I  did  my  best  to  dissuade 
her,  but  it  was  no  use." 

"  What  in  thunder  did  you  want  to  prevent  her 
for?"  asked  David. 

"  ^^h,  well,  you  understand.  They're  a  very  or- 
dinary lot,  I'm  afraid — ^just  the  kind  of  ehildren  I've 
always  tried  to  keep  her  away  from.  I  never  heard 
one  of  their  names  before." 

"  I  think  she's  a  reg'lar  brick  to  tackle  them,"  re- 
turned her  husband.  "  It  does  me  good  to  see  Made- 
line takin'  that  turn — nearly  all  the  girls  her  age  is 
jest  about  as  much  use  as  a  sofa-tidy,  with  tlicir  teas 
an'  five-o'clocks  an'  at-homes,  an'  all  them  other  dis- 
eases," David  continued  scornfully.  "  It's  all  right  to 
have  girls  learned " 

"  Taught,  David,"  corrected  his  wife. 

"  It's  the  same  thing,"  retorted  Mr.  Borland.  "  I'm 
too  old  for  you  to  learn  me  them  new  words, 
mother — it's  all  right,  as  I  was  sayin',  to  get  them 
learned  an'  taught  how  to  work  in  china,  an'  ivory, 


HIWPI^BF 


l^^l 


A    PARENTAL    PARLEY 


>=)5 


an'  wood  an'  hay  an'  stubble,  as  tlie  good  book  says, 
but  it's  far  better  to  see  them  workin'  a  httle  in  hu- 
man bein's.  It  must  be  terrible  interestin'  to  try 
your  hand  on  an  immortal  soul — them  kind  o'  pro- 
ductions lasts  a  while.  So  don't  go  an'  cool  her  off, 
mother — you  let  her  stick  to  them  kids  without 
names  if  she  wants  to." 

"  But  she  tells  me,  David,  she  tells  me  some  of 
them  come  to  Sunday-s'-hool  without  washing  their 
hands  or  faces." 

"  Tell  her  to  wear  buckskin  mits,"  said  Mr.  Borland 
gravely. 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  laugh,  David— but  they  seem 
to  have  all  sorts  of  things  wrong  with  them.  Madt 
line  told  me  one  day  how  she  couldn't  get  the  atten- 
tion of  the  chiss  because  one  of  them  kept  winding 
and  unwinding  a  rag  on  his  sore  finger  for  all 
the  class  to  see  it;  he  said  a  rat  bit  it  in  the 
night." 

"  Rouidi  on  rats'd  soon  fix  them,"  said  David  re- 
flectively ;  "  I  mind  out  in  the  barn  one  time " 

"  But  I'm  serious,  David,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Bor- 
land; "and  there's  something  else  I  hardly  like  to 
tell  you.  But  only  last  Sunday  Madeline  was  telling 
me — she  laughed  about  it,  but  I  didn't— how  she 
asked  one  of  the  boys  why  he  wasn't  there  the  Sun- 
day before,  and  he  said  :  '  Please,  ma'am,  I  had  the 
shingles.'" 

"  Shingles  ain't  catchin',"  declared  David,  as  he 
gasped  for  breath.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha! "  he  roared,  "  that's 
the  richest  I've  heard  since  the  nigger  show.    Ha,  ha ! 


fSPBlpi-SB-wrr 


is(> 


■THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


i 


If 


that's  a  good  one — that's  the  kind  of  a  class  I'd  Hke 
to  have.  None  o'  your  silk-sewed  kids  for  me,  with 
their  white  chiffon  an'  pink  bows  !  It  seems  a  sin 
for  them  teachers  to  have  so  much  fun  on  Sundays, 
don't  it?"  and  David  extricated  his  shank  from  be- 
neath the  table,  venting  his  mirth  upon  it  with  man}' 
a  resounding  slap. 

Mrs.  Borland  sighed  discouragedly.  "  Well,"  she 
said  at  length,  "  I  suppose  there  etn-  greater  troubles  in 
life  than  that.  In  fact,  1  was  just  thinking  of  one  of 
them  when  you  were  speaking  about  where  you'd 
entertain  the  men  when  they  come  to-night." 

"  I'm  afcard  what  I'll  say  won't  entertain  them  a 
terrible  lot,"  said  David,  passing  his  cup  for  further 
stimulus  as  he  thought  of  the  ordeal. 

"  Well,  about  where  you'll  talk  to  them,  then," 
amended  Mrs.  Borland.  "  My  trouble's  something 
the  same.  Only  it's  about  the  servants ;  at  least  it's 
about  Letitia — she's  the  new  one.  It  seems  she  be- 
longs to  a  kind  of  an  Adventist  f  hurch,  and  she  told 
me  this  morning  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gurkle,  the  min- 
ister, is  coming  up  to  call  on  her  some  afternoon  this 
week.  And  she  asked  where  would  she  receive  him  ! 
Receive  him,  mind  you,  David — she's  going  to  ;'< - 
cii'it' !  And  she  asked  me  where — asked  me  where 
she'd  receive  him.  " 

"  Well,  that  was  natural  enough.  What  did  you 
tell  her?"  David  asked,  marvelling  at  the  agitation 
of  which  the  feminine  mind  is  capable. 

"  Why,  I  told  her  where  else  would  she  receive 
him  except  in   the  kitchen — you  don't  suppose  my 


A    PARENTAL    PARLEY 


>^7 


nniids  are  going  to  entertain  their  company  in  the 
parlour,  do  you,  David  ?  " 

Mr.  Borland  turned  :  is  face  reflectively  towards 
the  wall,  gazing  at  the  lurid  painting  of  a  three-}  ear- 
old  who  had  been  the  jjnde  of  last  years  fair. 
Finall)-  he  spoke  :  "  Yes,  Martha,  I  reckon  she  wiij.  I 
ain't  much  of  an  interferer — but  there  ain't  ag<iin'  to 
to  be  no  minister  of  the  (jo>pel  set  down  in  the 
kitchen  in  this  house.  HIack  clothes  is  too  easy 
stained.     Besides,  it  ain't  the  ua\-  I  was  raised." 

"  But,  l)a\  id,  surely  you  don't " 

"  Ye.-.,  1  do — that's  jest  exactly  what  I  do.  I  know 
this  Gurkle  man — dn)p[)ed  into  his  church  one  night 
when  some  revival  nieetin's  was  goin'  on.  He's  a 
little  sawed-off  fellow,  witli  a  wig — an'  his  cufts  has 
teeth  like  a  bucksaw — an'  he  wears  a  white  tic  that 
looks  like  a  horse's  hamcs.  An'  he  has  an  Adam's 
apple  like  a  door-knocker;  it  kept  goin'  an' comin' 
that  night,  for  there  was  a  terrible  lot  ol  feeliii  in  the 
meetin'.  An'  Mr.  Gurkle  was  a  cryin'  part  of  the 
time,  an'  he's  that  cross-ejcd  that  the  tears  run  over 
the  bridge  of  his  nose,  both  different  wa\s.  But  I 
believe  he's  a  good  little  man — an  there  ain't  goin'  to 
Ijc  no  minister  a^quintin'  round  the  kitchen  in  this 
house.  He's  goin'  to  the  parlour,  mother.  The 
kitchen's  all  ri<;ht  for  courtin' — come  in  there  myself 
the  other  night  when  Mary  had  her  steady  company; 
there  was  three  chairs — an'  two  of  'em  was  empt}-. 
That's  all  riglu  for  courtin'-»-it  don't  need  no  con- 
veniences, nor  no  light,  nor  nothin".  Two  )oung 
folks  an'  a  little  hu.nan  natur's  all  you  need  for  that. 


II 


litiiiWM!MWFWIWLI  ,  .  ■  ,,IH^-'J«.' 


158 


■THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


11.  i 

I 
J 


But  praviii'  an'  sayin'  catechism's  hard  enough  at  the 
best ;  so  I  reckon  they'll  have  to  do  it  in  the  parlour, 
mother,"  and  Mr.  Borland  ro  -e  I'rom  his  chair  and 
moved  slowly  towards  the  window,  patting  his  wife 
playfully  on  the  shoulder  as  he  passed. 

"  By  Geor  here  they  arc,"  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed ;  "  I  .    li  v^e  that's  them  comin'  now." 

"  Who  ?  "  r  X  his  consort,  not  with  much  zest  of 
tone.  She  wi  ^^till  ruminating  on  her  maid's  relig- 
ious advantages. 

"  It's  the  delegation — it's  them  two  fellows  that's 
goin'  to  present  the  claims  of  the  union.  They're 
turnin'  in  at  the  carriage  gate,  sure's  you're  livin.  ' 

"  I'm  going  up-stairs,"  announced  Mrs.  Borland. 
"  I've  got  to  fill  out  some  invitations  for  an  at-home 
next  week — you  don't  mind  my  leaving,  David  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  mother,  certainly  not.  Far  better  for 
you  not  to  be  around.  You  see,  certain  kinds  o' 
labour  agitators  is  always  complainin'  that  the  manu- 
facturers jest  lives  among  beautiful  things  ;  an'  you're 
the  prmcipal  one  in  this  house,  mother ;  so  I  reckon 
you  better  slope,"  and  David's  hand  was  very  gentle 
as  it  went  out  to  touch  the  frosting  locks.  Mrs.  Bor- 
land smiled  iiidififerently  at  the  compliment,  secretly 
hugging  it  the  v.hile.  Every  true  woman  does  like- 
wise;  the  proffered  pearl  is  carelessly  glanced  at  and 
permitted  to  fall  to  the  ground — then  she  swiftl\- 
covers  it  with  one  nimble  foot,  and  solitary  hours  yet 
to  come  are  enriched  by  communion  with  its  radi- 
ance. 


Jen 


XVT 


DAl^lD     THE    DIPLOMAT 

HIS  wife  was  hardly  half-way  up  the  stairs  be- 
fore Uavid  was  in  the  height  of  perfcrvid 
activity.  "  I'll  have  an  at-home  myself," 
he  muttered  under  his  breath  ;  "  I'll  have  a  male  at- 
home,"  as  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Borland,"  saiu  che  maid,  parishioner  to 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Gurkle,  as  she  appeared  in  answer. 

"  Take  ail  tliem  dishes  away,"  he  instructed  breath- 
lessly ;  "  all  the  catin'  stuff,  I  mean,"  waving  his  hand 
over  the  suggestive  ruins.  «  Is  there  any  salt  hcr- 
rin's  in  the  house?" 

"Yes,  sir,  there's  always  herrin's  on  Friday;  we 
keep  'em  for  Thomas — Thomas  is  a  Roman,"  she 
said  solemnly,  an  expression  on  her  face  that  showed 
she  was  thinking  of  the  judgment  day. 

David  grinned.  "  I'll  bet  the  Pope  couldn't  tell 
one  from  a  mutton  chop  to  save  his  life,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  anyhow,  put  tiiree  herrin's  on  the  table — an'  a 
handful  o'  soda  crackers — an'  some  prunes,"  he  di- 
rected quickly,  "  an'  make  some  green  tea — make  it 
strong  enough  to  float  a  man-o'-uar.  By  George, 
there's  the  bell — when  evcrytliin's  fixed,  you  come  in 
to  the  sittin'-room  an'  tell  me  supper's  ready — sup- 
per, mind,  Letitia." 

159 


lit  I 


1 1 


WSi 


i6o 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


Tlicn  he  hurried  through  the  hall  to  the  door 
flinging  it  wide  open. 

"  Why,  if  this  ain't  you,  Mr.  Hunter,"  he  cried  de- 
lightedly, "  an'  I'm  blamed  if  this  ain't  Mr.  Glady," 
giving  a  hand  to  each.  "  Come  away  in.  Conic 
on  in  to  the  sittin'-room — parlours  always  makes  me 
think  it's  Sunday." 

The  men  followed  in  a  kmd  of  dream.  Mr.  Hunt- 
er's embarrassment  took  a  delirious  form,  the  po(  .r 
man  spending  several  minutes  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
hang  his  hat  on  the  antlers  of  a  monster  head  about 
three  feet  beyond  his  utmost  reach.  Finally  it  fell 
into  a  bowl  of  goldfish  that  stood  beneath  the  ant- 
lers ;  great  was  the  agitation  among  the  finny  in- 
mates, but  it  was  nothing  as  compared  to  Mr.  Hunt- 
er's. 

"  That's  all  right,"  David  sang  out  cheerily ; 
"  reckon  they  thought  it  was  an  eclipse  o'  the  sun," 
he  suggested.  "  Fling  your  lid  on  the  floor — I  hate 
style  when  you  have  visitors,"  whereupon  Mr.  Hunter, 
fearful  of  further  accident,  bended  almost  to  his 
knees  upon  the  floor  and  depos.ted  the  dripping  ar- 
ticle carefully  beneath  the  sofa.  Mr.  Glady,  more 
self-possessed,  resorted  to  his  pocket-liandkerchief, 
his  hat  still  safe  upon  his  head.  Hiding  his  face  in 
the  copious  calico,  he  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  clear 
that  the  little  fishes,  mistaking  it  for  Gabriel's  trump, 
rose  with  o^e  accord  to  the  surface — and  David's 
favourite  collie  answered  loudly  from  the  kitchen. 
Compelled  by  a  sense  of  propriety  to  reappear  from 
the    bandana,    Mr.    Glady    began  hurriedly   to    sit 


?y't.->42M-\  :ss 


DA^ID    The    DIPLOMAT  i6i 

down  and  was  about  to  sink  upon  tlic  gla.ss  top  of  a 
case  of  many-coloured  c--s,  Madeline's  especial 
pride,  when  David  flew  between, 

"  Oont,"  he  cried  appealingiy,  "them's  fowl's  ecjs^s 
—an'  anyhow,  this  ain't  the  clockin'  seasoT" 
whereupon  .Mr.  Glady  leai)ed  so  far  forward  a-ain 
that  he  collided  with  a  small  replica  of  the  \'enus  de 
IMilo  on  a  mahogany  stand,  the  goddess  and  the 
mahogany  both  oscillating  a  little  with  the  impact. 

Mr.  Glady  stared  at  the  delicate  creation,  then  cast 
quick  glances  about  the  floor.  "  Did  I  break  off 
those  arms?  "  he  asked  e.<citedly.  pale  as  death. 

"  Oh, bless  you,  no— she  was  winged  when  she  was 
born,"  said  David,  trying  to  breathe  naturallv,  and 
imploring  the  men  to  be  seated,  whereat  they  slowly 
descended  into  chairs,  as  storm-bruised  vessels  creep 
into  their  berths. 

When  both  were  safely  lodged  a  deep  silence  fell. 
David  Kuiked  expectantly  from  one  to  the  other  and 
each  of  the  visitors  looked  appealingly  towards  his 
mate.  lunally  Mr.  Glady  brought  his  lips  apart  with 
a  smack :  •<  We  come— we  come  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Borland,  because  you're  an  employer  of  labour 
and . " 

"  H)-  George,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  David  chimed 
"1  gleetuily;  "that's  elegant— there'd  be  less  jawin' 
between  labour  an'  ca[)ital  if  there  was  more  visitin' 
back  an'  furrit  like  this.  I  can't  tell  you  how  tickled 
I  am  to  see  you  both.  I  don't  have  many  visitors," 
he  went  on  rather  mournfully,  -  that  v.,  m  a  social 
way.     A  good  many  drops  out  to  see  me  with  sub- 


i    ;f 


1  i 
i  i 


m?- 


"Wlk 


l62 


THE    U/EB    OF    TIME 


'-   I 


scription  lists — but  they  never  bring  their  knittin'," 
David  added  with  a  melancholy  smile.  "  Most  o'  my 
evenin's  is  very  lonely.     I've  seen  me  vvearyin' so 

bad  that  I  asked  the  missus  to  play  on  the  pianner 

an'  one  night  I  shaved  three  times,  to  pass  the  time." 

"  Please,  Mr.  Borland,  supper's  on  the  table,"  said 
a  small  voice  al  the  door. 

David  leaped  to  his  feet.  "  Come  on.  Mr.  Hunter 
—come  away,  Mr.  Glady,  an'  we'll  get  outside  o' 
somethin',"  taking  an  arm  of  each  and  turning  to- 
wards the  door. 

The  men  faintly  protested,  pleading  a  similar  previ- 
ous operation ;  but  David  overbore  them  with  sweeping 
cordiality.  *■  Let's  go  through  the  motions  anyhow," 
he  said.  "I'm  an  awful  delicate  eater  myself ;  the 
bite  I  eat,  you  could  put  in — in  a  hogshead,"  turning 
an  amiable  grin  on  his  guests.  "  Here,  you  sit  there, 
Mr.  Hunter— an'  I  guess  that's  your  stall,  Mr.  Glady; 
I'm  sorry  my  missus  can't  come— she's  workin'.  An 
my  daughter's  away  somewhere  workin'  at  wood — 
turnin'  an  honest  penny.  Will  you  ask  a  blessin', 
iMr.  Hunter  ?  " 

Mr.  Hunter  stared  pitifully  at  his  host.  "Tom 
there'll  ask  it,"  he  said,  his  lips  very  dry ;  "  he  used  to 
go  to  singin'-school  in  the  church." 

Mr.  Glady 's  head  was  bowed  waiting.  "  Mr.  Hunt- 
cr'll  do  it  himself,"  he  said,  without  moving  a  mus- 
cle ;  "  his  wife's  mother's  a  class- leader  in  the  Meth- 
odists." 

Whereupon  the  piously  connected  man,  c?;cape 
mipossible  now,  began  to   emit  a  low  subterranean 


DAl^ID    The    DIPLOMAT 


x63 


rumble,  like  the  initial  utterances  of  a  bottle  full  of 
water  when  it  is  turned  upside  down.  But  it  was 
music  to  the  ear  of  iMr.  Glady,  listening  in  rigid  rev- 
erence. 

"  What  church  do  you  go  to,  l\Ir.  Glady  ?  "  David 
asked  as  he  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea.  its  vigour  ob- 
vious. "  Both  sugar  and  cream,  eh— Letitia,  have 
we  any  sugar  round  the  house  ?  " 

"  There's  a  barrel  an'  a  half,"  the  servant  responded 
promptly. 

"Oh.  yes,  I  see—fetch  the  half;  we  live  awful 
plain,  Mr.  Glady.  Don't  go  to  -  •  church,  did  you 
say  ?      I  crrible  mistake— why  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,"  his  guest  responded  slowly,  "  I  look  at 
It  this  way:  if  a  fellow  works  all  week- like  us  toilers 
does-he  wants  to  rest  on  Sunday.  That's  our  rest 
day." 

"  Terrible  mistake,"  repeated  David  ;  "  two  spoon- 
fuls ?_its   the  workin'  men   that  needs  church  the 
most.     I  was  readin'  in  a  book  the  other  day— it  was 
either  the  '  Home  Physician  '  or  the  dictionary,  I  for- 
get which-how  the    Almighty  train,  the  larks   in 
England  to  scoot  up  in  the  air  an'  s.ng  right  over 
the  heads  o'  the  toilers,  as  you  call  'e-n— the  fellows 
workin'  in  the  fields.     You  see,  the  Almighty  knows 
they  re  the  kind  o'  people  need.-   it  most-an'  they 
hear  more  of  it  than  lords  an'  ladies  does.     An'  it's 
them  ksn     o'  folks  cverywhrre  that  needs  entertain- 
ment the       ost ;  an'   I  don't  think  there's  anj'thin' 
entertains  ,  ou  like  a  church,  the  way  it  gets  at  the 
muscles  you  don't  use  ever)-  day.     If  you  go  to  sleep, 


m 


164 


THE    U/EB    OF    TIME 


H 


that  rests  you ;  an'  if  you  keep  awake,  it  ventilates 
you— so  you  gain  either  way.  Oh,  yes,  every  one 
should  go  to  some  church,"  he  concluded  seriously. 

"  That's  ail  right  for  rich  manufacturer.',,"  broke 
in  Mr.  Hunter;  "it's  easy  to  enjoy  a  sermon  when 
you're  thinkin'  of  the  five-course  dinner  jou'll  get 
when  it's  over.  But  when  you've  nothin'  alore  \our 
eyes  only  a  dish  of  liver— an'  mebbe  scorched— a 
sermon  don't  go  quite  so  good." 

"  That's  jest  where   I'm  glad  to  have  a  chance  to 
learn  you  somethin',"  David  returned  with  quite  un- 
wonted eagerness.     It  was  evident  he  had  struck  a 
vein.     "  There  ain't  near  so  much  difference  as  you 
fellows    think.     Do    have    some    more    prunes,   Mr. 
Glady — they  don't  take  up  no  room  at  all.     As  far 
as  eatin'  is  concerned,  anyway,  there's  terrible  little 
difference.    It's  a  caution  how  the  Almighty's  evened 
things  up  after  all— that's  a  favourite  idea  o'  mine," 
he  went  on  quite  earnestly,  "the  way  He  gives  a 
square  deal  all  round.     In  the  long  run,  that  is  ;  \  ou 
jest  watch  an'  see  if  it  ain't  so.     I  ain't  terrible  reliji- 
ious,  an'  I  ain't  related  to  no  class-leaders,  but  there's 
a  hymn  I'm  mighty  fond  of— I'd  give  it  out  twicet  a 
Sunday  if  I  was  a  preacher — it  has  a  line  about  '  My 
web  o'  time  He  wove';  an'  I  believe,"  David  went 
on,  his    face   quite  aglow,  "  it's    the   grandest   truth 
there  is.     An'  I  believe   He  puts   in   the  dark   bits 
where  everybody  thinks  it's  all  shinin',  an'  the  shinin' 
bits  where  everybody  thinks  it's  all  dark— an'  that's 
the  way  it  goes,  you  see." 

"  That's  all  very  fine,"  rejoined  Mr.  Glady,  a  little 


if  ^ 


•»:i'lMIKjC3B-iy: 


imr. 


DAyin    -The    DIPLOMAT  ur-, 

timid  about  what  he-  u.slK-d  to  say,  yet  resolved  to 
get  It  out;  ••  that's  all  very  tuie  in  tiicory— but  a  tel- 
low  only  needs  to  look  around  to  see  it  makes  quite 
a  bit  o'  difference  just  the  -anic."  he  affirmed,  at^tin- 
an  appraising  -lance  around  the  richly  furnished 
room.     "  Money  makes  the  mare  go,  all  right." 

"  Mebbc  It  does,"  said   David,  a  far-off  look  in  hi, 
eyes.    "  I  u-isht  )-ou'd  both  have  some  more  craclcer, 
an'  prunes;  mebbe  it  cioe>,  but  it  don't  make  her  -o 
very  lar  in— in  u liere  your  feelin's  ,>,  1  mean.    'Ihere  . 
far  more  important  things  tlian  for  the  mare  to  ,;et  a 
gait  on.     Look  at  that  .Standard-oil  fellow,  out  there 
m  Cleveland,  that's  g„t  more  millions  than  he  has 
hairs.     Well,  money  made  the  mare  go— but  if  it  d 
make    the    hair   stay,  I    reckon   he'd   like   it   better. 
I  hey  say  there  ain't  a   Iiair  between   his  head  an' 
heaven,     lie    could    drop   a    million    apiece   on   his 
friends,  an'  then  have  millions  left ;  but  they  say  he's 
clean    forgot    how    to    chaw_if   he   takes    anythin' 
strongcr'n  Xestle's  food  it  acts  on  him  like  dj-namite 
an    then   he  boosts  up  the  price  o'  oil—he  does  it 
kind    ol    unconscious    like—when    he's    writhin'      I 
wouldn't  board  with  him  for  a  month  if  he  gave  me 
the   lun    of  Jiis   vault.      But    there's   the    fellow   that 
drives  his  horses ;  he  sets  down  to  his  breakfast  at 
si-x  o'clock—with  his  hair  every  way  for  Sunday— an' 
he  cats  with  his  knife  an"  drinks   out  of  his  saucer. 
An'  when  all  hi^  children  thinks  he's  done,  he  says  : 
•  Pass  me  them  cucumber  pickles— an'  another  hunk 
o'  lemon  pie.'— so  you  see  things  is  divided  up  prettv 
even  after  all.     I  believe  luck  comes  to  lots  o"  men 


i  i 


'itl 


«S:      lliiL^ 


166 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


of  course — but  one  of  its  hands  is  most  gcn'rally 
ai\va}s  as  empty  as  a  last  year's  nest — you  can't  have 
everythin',"  conchided  David,  looking  first  at  the 
men's  plates  and  then  down  at  the  crackers  and  prunes. 

"  But  one  handful's  a  heap,"  suggested  Mr.  Glady, 
lifting  the  keel  of  a  ruined  herring  to  his  \\\^~,. 

"  'Tain't  as  much  ius  you  think  for,"  retorted  the 
host.  "  It  don't  touch  the  sore  spot  at  all.  If  a  fel- 
low's got  a  good  deal  of  th'  almighty  needful,  as  they 
call  it,  it  may  make  his  surroundin's  a  little  more— a 
little  more  ornamcntorious,"  he  declared,  wrestling 
with  the  word.  "  But  there  ain't  nothin'  more  to  jt 
than  that.  Take  me,  if  you  like  ;  I've  got  more  than 
lots  o'  fellows — or  used  to  have,  anyway.  But  the 
difference  is  mostly  ornament;  a  few  more  things 
like  that  there  statute — or  is  it  a  statue?— I  can't 
never  tell  them  two  apart;  that  there  statute  of  the 
hamstrung  lady  you  run  up  agin  in  the  sittin'-room. 
But  I  never  eat  only  one  hcrrin'  at  a  time,  an'  I  jest 
sleep  on  one  pillow  at  a  time — an'  if  I  have  the  colic 
I  jest  cuss  an'  howl  the  same  as  some  weary  Willie 
that  a  woman  gives  one  of  her  own  pies  to,  an'  he 
eats  r.l.  .i.e  undercrust.  I'm  afeard  you  don't  like 
our  humble  fare,"  he  digressed  in  a  rather  plaintive 
voice ;  "  won't  you  have  some  more  crackers  an' 
prunes  between  you — they'll  never  get  past  the 
kitchen,  anyhow." 

The  horny-handed  guests,  declining  the  oft-pressed 
hospitality,  began  about  this  time  to  lock  a  little  un- 
easily at  each  other ;  visions  of  their  original  errand 
were    troubling   them   some.     Finally    Mr.    Hunter 


-wm 


^rs^m. 


msf^m&s'^mmBs^mmiLK 


DAI^ID    The    DJHI  OMAT  ih-j 

nodded  very  decidedly  to  Ins  culleasue.  whereat  Mr. 
Giadya-ain   produced   his  tru.ty  handk-erchief,  aju! 
alter   he   had  tooted   liis   diMjuietude  into  its  sympa- 
thetic  bosom,  cleared   h,^   throat  with  a  sound  that 
SUR-estcd  the  dred-inj;  of  a  harbour,  and  be-an  : 

"Me  and  Mr.  Hunter'  oot  a  commi>.mn,  Mr. 
Borland.  We're  appointed  to— to  conler  with  you 
about,  about  the  interests  .u  tile  men,  so  to  ^i.cak  , 
about  a  raise— that  i.>,  about  a  inore  tairer  distribution 
of  the  product  of  our  united  indi>tr\-,  as  it  were,"  he 
went  on,  serenely  quoting'  u  ithout  acknowledgment 
from  the  flowing'  stanzas  ot  a  -ifted  a-itator  who^e 
misMon  had  been  completed  but  a  week  bekre. 

"  I'm  terrible  ^^lad  you  brou-^-iit  that  up,"  David 
responded  cnthu=ia>tically.  ••  I  hated  to  mention  it 
niysell ;  but  I've  been  wonderin'  latelv  about  a  little 
scheme.  Dye  think  the  men  would  be  willin'  to 
kind  of  enter  into  a  bargain  lor  -ettin'  a  certain  per 

cent,  of  the  profits  an' " 

"  I'd  ..take  my  life  they  wc^ld,"  Mr.  Hunter  broke 
m  fervidly.  "  Of  course,  wc  liaven't  no  autliority  .-n 
tnat  point,  but  Tm  sure  th.eyVl  be  willin'_a  more 
agreeable  lot  of  men  you  never  seen.  Mr.  Borlanc' 
Don't  you  think  so,  Tom  :■•  "  he  appealed  to  the  ap- 
proval- Glad)-.  The  latter  was  fiaminc:  an  ardent 
endorsement— but  David  uent  on  : 

"  An'  of  course  I'd  e.vpect  them  to  enjoy  the  losses 
along  with  us  too-then  we'd  all  have  the  sime 
kind  o  tceiin's  all  the  time,  like  what  beco.  leth  breth- 
ren. An-  we're  havin'  a  lot  o'  the  last  kind  these 
days.     What  do  j-ou  think,  Mr.  Glady  ?  " 


** 


i68 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


Mr.  Glady  was  sadly  at  a  loss  ;  with  a  kind  of  mus- 
cular spasm  he  seized  his  cup  and  held  it  out  towards 
David;  "1  tnink  I'll  take  another  cup  o'  tea,"  he 
said  vacantly. 

"  Certainly — an  I  want  you  an'  Mr.  Hunter  to  talk 
that  little  scheme  over  with  the  men.  An'  > ou  must 
come  back  an'  tell  me  what  they  think — come  an' 
have  supper  with  me  again,  an'  I'll  try  an' have  some- 
thin'  e.\tra,  so's  we  can  cat  an'  drink  an'  b.  merry." 

Nobody  hcd  suggested  departure  ;  but  ahead)-  the 
three  men  were  moving  out  into  the  hall.  "  How's 
all  the  men  keepin',  Mr.  Hunter? — the  men  in  our 
shops,  1  mean,"  the  genial  host  enquired. 

'•  All  prett}^  good,  sir — all  except  Jim  Shiel,  an* 
he's  pretty  sick.  He's  been  drawin'  benefits  tor  a 
month  now." 

"  Oh,  that's  too  bad;  but  I'm  glad  you  told  me. 
I'll  look  around  an'  see  him  soon — your  folks  all 
well,  Mr.  Glady.?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you.  But  don't  call  me  Mr.  Glady," 
said  the  friendly  delegate;  "I'd  feel  better  if  }(iu'd 
just  call  me  plain  Tom." 

"An'  n)y  name's  Henry,"  chimed  Mr.  Hrnler, 
"just  plain  Henry." 

"  Them's  two  elegant  names,"  agreed  Mr.  IJorland, 
"  an'  I  tliink  myself  they're  best  among  friends. 
Speakin'  about  first  names  reminds  me  of  an  old  sol- 
dier my  grandfather  used  to  know  in  Massachusetts- 
He  fought  for  Washington,  an'  he  had  great  yarns  to 
tell.  One  was  that  one  mornin'  he  assassinated  thitty- 
seven  British  fellows  before  breakfast;  an'  Washing- 


w^m^a 


WB^ 


DA^ID    The    DIPLOMAT 


169 


ton,  he  came  out  an'  smiled  round  on  the  corpses. 
Of  course,  he  slun^;  old  lloUister  a  word  o'  praise. 
'I  done  It  for  you,  General,'  says  old  Ilollisler. 
'  Don't,'  says  Washington,  *  don't  call  me  General — 
call  me  George,'  "  and  Dd\id  led  the  chorus  with 
great  zest. 

"  Well,  we'll  be  biddin'  you  j.^ood-evenin',"  said  Mr. 
Glady,  extending  his  hand. 

"  Jest  wait  a  minute  ;  I  sent  word  to  Thomas  to 
hitch  up  the  chestnuts — he'll  drive  you  down.  Here 
he  is  now,"  as  the  lu.xurious  carriage  rolled  to  the 
door.  Thomas  controlled  himself  with  difficulty  as 
he  watched  Mr.  Borland  handing  his  petrified  guests 
into  the  handsome  equipage.  I'anic  takes  diflerent 
forms;  .Mr.  (il.idy  wrappec'  the  lap-robe  carefully 
about  his  neck,  while  Mr.  lluntcr  >hook  iuuid.^  sol- 
emnly with  the  coachman. 

"  1  don't  use  this  rig  a  terrible  lot  mj-self, "  he  heard 
David  saying;  "it's  a  better  fit  for  the  missus.  If 
j'ou  feel  like  drivin'  refund  a  bit  to  get  the  air, 
Thomas'U  take  good  care  o'  you.  Good-night, 
1  fenry  ;  gooil-night,  Tom,"  he  sung  out  as  the  horses' 
hoofs  rallied  down  the  avenue. 

Then  David  wer.t  slowly  back  into  the  house.  He 
wandered,  smiling  remini-^cenll)•,  into  the  sitting- 
room.  Pausing  before  the  Venus  de  Milo,  he  chucked 
the  classic  chin. 

"  Well,  old  lady,"  he  saiil  gravely,  "  there's  more 
w  i)'s  of  chokin'  a  dog  besides  chokin"  him  with 
butler." 


y  JLU^ii  iia.)  . 


m 


li   i 


XVII 
FRIENDSHIPS    MINISTRY 

IF  any  man  would  learn  the  ^k>ry  .md  beauty  of  a 
mighty  tree  we  would  bid  him  range  the  un- 
troubled forcit  where  God's  masterpieces  stand 
in  rich  prolusion.  Hut  we  are  wrong.  Not  there 
will  he  learn  how  precious  and  how  beautiful  are  the 
stately  oak  and  the  spreading  beech  and  the  whis- 
pering pine.  But  let  him  dwell  a  summer  season 
through  upon  some  treeless  plain  or  rolling  prairie, 
and  there  will  be  formed  within  him  a  just  and  dis- 
criminating sense  of  ihe  healing  ministry  committed 
to  these  mediators  between  earth  and  sky. 

And  men  learn  friendship  best  where  friends  arc  not 
Not  when  surrounded  by  strong  and  loving  hearts, 
but  when  alone  with  thousands  «:)f  indifferent  lives,  do 
we  learn  how  truly  rich  i>  he  who  ha-  a  friend.  1  o 
finil  then  one  who  really  cares  is  to  confront  in  sud- 
den joy  a  familiar  face  amid  the  waste  of  wilder- 
ness. 

Alone  among  indifferent  thou5;ands  as  lie  alighted 
from  the  train,  Harvey  Simmons  turned  his  steps,  tlic 
streets  somewhat  more  familiar  than  before,  towards 
the  house  where  dwelt  the  only  man  lie  knew  in  all 
the  crowded  city.     A  few  encpiiries  and  a  half  hour's 

170 


fr-^'-^^'^'.'A'J-..       ^■-'4U.".JM|IM'J--^^..    I 


FRIENDSHIP  S   MINIS! KY       171 

vigorous  walking  brought  him  within  sight  of  the 
doctor's  house ;  he  was  so  intent  on  covering  the 
remaining  distance  that  two  approaching  figures  had 
almost  passed  him  by  when  he  heard  a  voice  that  had 
something  familiar  about  it. 

"  111  do  the  best  1  can,  Wallis,"  the  voice  was  say- 
ing, "  but  I  guess  we'll  have  to  put  the  child  under 
chloroform." 

Harvey  turned  a  quick  glance  on  the  speaker.  It 
was  none  other  than  the  doctor  himself. 

"  Dr.  Horton — i.s  that  you,  Dr.  Morton  ?"  the  youth 
asked  timidly. 

The  older  of  the  two  men  turned  suddenly  on  his 
heel,  the  keen  gray  eyes  scrutinizing  the  figure  before 
hmi.  It  was  but  a  moment  till  the  same  kindly  smile 
that  Harvey  remembered  so  well  broke  over  his  face. 
Both  hands  were  co  the  young  x\\\xn\  shoulder  in  an 
instant. 

"  Vou  dt)n't  mean  to  say — I  know  you,  mind — but 
you  don't  mean  to  say  you're  that  young  fellow  from, 
'Vom  filenallen — that  brought  his  mother  to  me  about 
her  eyes  ?" 

V>y  this  time  Ila.-vey  had  possession  of  one  (.f  the 
hands.  "  I'm  the  very  same,"  he  said,  his  face  beam- 
ing with  the  joy  of  being  recognized. 

"  How  is  she  ?  "  the  doctor  asked  like  a  flash. 

The  light  faded  a  little  from  I  larvey's  face.  "  She 
can't  sec  at  all  now.  sir,"  he  answered  siiberly. 
"  She's  quite  blind — only  she  can  tell  when  it's  morn- 
ing " 

"Thank  the    Lord  for  that,"  said    the  other  fer- 


I 


172 


THE    IV EB    OH    TIME 


,  ill! 

fill 

hi! 


1 


V'.ritly  ,  "  that's  al\\a\  >  a  j^lcain  ui  hope'       Then  fol- 
low cd  a  Lricl  cxchaiiL^c  ul  (jucstions  and  answers. 

■•  Hou  dui-  \()ur  motlicr  take  it?"  the  docior 
asked  finally. 

"  ( )h,  file's   lovely — she'>  just  as  sweet  and  patient 
as  she  can  be,  doesn't  think  of  herseli'  at  ail." 
••  Vour  mother  must  be  a  re{:jular  brick." 
••  She'>    a    great  Christian,"    quoth    her    son. 
think  that's  what  keeps  lier  up." 

••  .Shouldn't  wonder— it'>  the  best  kind  of  stimulant 
I  know  ol,"  the  doctor  answeretl  in  a  tlroll  s(jrt  of 
wa\ ,  turning  and  smiling  at  his  companion.  "  Oh, 
excuse  me,  Wallis-^  what's  this  the  n.ime  is?"  he 
asked  Harvey,  "  I've  just  forgotten  it." 

"  Simmons,  llarve)-  Simmons,"  the  other  answered. 
"  Of  course  ;  it's  c[uite  familiar  nuw  that  I  heir  it. 
This  is  Dr.  Wallis— and  this  is  Mr.  Simmons,"  lie 
said  to  the  other.  "  Dr.  Wallis  was  just  taking  me  to 
see  a  patient.  1  )id  you  want  to  see  me  about  ati)- 
thing  in  particular,  Harvey? — )ou  won't  nnnd  iiiy 
calling  )-ou  that,  will  }'nu  ''  " 

It  onlv  needed   a  glance  at  the  ple.i^ed  face  to  see 
how  welcome  was  the  familiarity. 

•  Well,  really,  I  ditl,"  Harvey  re-[)onded  franklj- 
W  iK'ieuith,  hrietl)-  and  simpl>',  he  told  his  friend  the 
purpose  which  hatl  browght  him  to  the  city,  outlining 
til--  acadcnuc  course  he  intended  to  pursue,  earnest 
ic-olve  evident  iii  evi.  ry  word,  "/vnd  I  wanted  to 
get  your  advice  ab(-ut  a  boarding-Iiou-e,  '  he  con- 
cluded ;  "  you  see,  I  thoiii;ht  yon  nnght  know  .some 
nur  quiet  place  that  wouldn't — that  wouldn't  be  too 


L. 


/-KJtNDSH/P  S    MIX/STRY        173 

dear, "  he  said,  flushing' a  little.  "  I'm  quite  a  stian-'er 
in  tile  city— but  1  don't  want  to  go  to  a  regular 
boarding-house  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  Well,  no,"  the  doctor  began,  knitting  hi>  brows. 
"  And  1  really  ought  to  be  able  to  iiclp  you  out  on 
tli.it.  Ikit  I  tell  you — you  come  along  with  us ;  then 
ue  can  t.ilk  as  wc  go  along.  Besides,  I'm  sure  Dr. 
VVallih  here  will  be  able  to  advise  >  ou  much  better 
than  I  could— he  knows  ever\-  old  woman  in  the  cit\-." 
His  conherc  smiled.  ••  Its  mo.^lly  the  submerged 
tenth  1  know,"  he  answered  ;  "  I'm  afraid  there  aren't 
many  of  ni)-  patients  you'd  care  to  board  with. 
Want  a  place  near  the  college,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  That's  not  so  e-,sential,  "  said  I  larve)-  ;  "  I  wouldn't 
mind  a  walk  of  a  mile  or  >o  at  all." 

"  Cjood  idea,"  said  the  other  ;  '•  most  students  are 
pretty  cheertul  feeder.-, — want  a  room  to  yourself?" 

"  I'd  prefer  it— if  it  wouldn't  add  too  tnuch  to  the 
expense.  I've  always  g.,t  to  consider  that,  you 
know,"  returned  Harve)-,  simling  bravely  towards  his 
neu -found  friend. 

"  I'iik'lit  again."  affirmed  the  doctor.  "  .Single  -^ialls 
are  tl'.e  thing;  everybody  .sleeps  better  without  as- 
sistance. Sooner  have  a  few  children  around? 
Some  fellows  stud\-  better  with  kids  -n  the  house,  and 
others  again  go  wild  if  ihe\-  hear  one  howl." 

"  I  believe  I'd  get  ah.ng  just  as  well  without  them," 

said  Harvey.  laughing;  "jou  see.  I'll  need  to  study 

very  hard— and  I  don't  believe  they  help  one  much." 

"  It's  like  studying  in  a  monkeys'  cage,"  asserted 

Dr.  Wallis  vigorously;  "  what  1  hate  about  little  gaf- 


Nr 


174 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


fers  in  a  boarding-house  is  the  way  they  always  want 
to  look  at  your  watch, "  he  enlarged  solemnly,  "  and 
five  times  out  of  six  they  let  it  fall.  It's  fun  for  them, 
as  the  old  fable  says,  but  it's  death  to  the  frogs.  And 
of  course  >ou  want  to  get  into  a  place  where  they 
have  good  cooking ;  it's  pretty  hard  to  do  the  higher 
mathematics  on  hash  and  onions — and  lots  o'  students 
have  lost  their  degrees  through  bad  butter.  I've 
known  men  whose  whole  professional  life  was  tainted 
by  the  butter  they  got  at  college." 

*'  But  I'm  not  over  particular  about  what  I  eat," 
began  Harvey ,  "  if  the  place  is  warm,  and  if  they 
keep  it " 

"  That's  all  right  enough,"  broke  in  the  other,  "  but 
it  makes  a  difference  just  the  same.  Vou'vc  got  the 
same  kind  of  internal  mechanism  as  other  fellows, 
and  you've  got  to  reckon  with  it.  Well,  we'll  see 
what  \\c  can  do.  I've  g  >t  a  place  or  two  in  mind 
now.  I'll  tell  you  about  them  later — we're  almost  at 
my  patient's  house.  I  say,  you  may  as  well  come  in 
— it'll  be  a  little  glimpse  of  life  for  )-ou  ;  and  v.c  can 
see  more  about  this  matter  after  w<j  cnie  out." 

Another  hundred  yards  brought  Ihem  to  their  des- 
tination, a  rather  squalid  looking  cottage  on  a  rather 
squalid  looking  street.  Dr.  W'allis  knocked  at  the 
door,  pushing  it  open  and  entering  without  tarrying 
for  response.  As  Harvey  followed  witli  the  oKlcr 
doctor  a  child's  wailing  fell  upon  his  ears,  emerging 
from  the  only  other  room  the  little  house  containetl. 

"  Just  wait  here,"  said  Dr.  W'allis  to  the  other  two  ; 
"  the  child's  in  there — 111  be  back  in  a  luinute." 


FRIENDSHIP  S    MINISTRY        175 

He  disappe.  : -d,  Harvey  and  his  friend  seating 
themselves  on  a  rude  bench  near  the  door.  Both 
looked  around  for  a  minute  at  the  lutiful  bareness  of 
the  room ;  and  the  eyes  of  both  settled  down  upon  a 
tawdry  doll  that  lay,  forsaken  and  disc  onsolate,  on  the 
floor.  Tawdry  enough  it  was,  and  duly  fractured  in 
the  head ;  but  it  redeemed  tlie  wret  ,aed  room  with 
the  flavour  of  humanity,  and  the  solitary  ounbeam 
that  had  braved  the  grimy  window  played  about  the 
battered  brow,  and  the  vision  of  some  child's  wan  face 
rose  above  the  hapless  bundle. 

"  lie's  a  jewel,"  Dr.  Morton  said  in  a  half  whisoer, 
"  a  jewel  of  the  first  water." 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  1  Iarve>'. 

For  answer,  the  doctor  jerked  his  head  back- 
ward towards  the  adjoining  room.  "He  just  lives 
cuiiong  poor  people  like  these — they're  all  idolaters  of 
his.  He  gives  away  every  cent  he  makes  ;  when  he 
does  get  a  rich  patient  he  makes  them  shell  out  for 
the  poor  ones.  I  know  one  of  my  patients  called  him 
m  once  for  an  emergency — sprained  his  big  toe  get- 
ting out  of  the  bath-tub— and  Wallis  charged  him 
nfty  dollars  for  rubbing  it.  Then  he  went  out  and 
gave  the  money  a!l  away  ;  the  patient  forgot  all  about 
his  toe  after  Wallis  got  through  with  him,  I  can  tell 
you— the  pain  went  higher  up.  Hut  I  was  kind  of 
gkul— he  was  the  head  of  a  big  plumbing  firm,  and  I 
always  thought  Providence  used  Wallis  as  the  humble 
instrument  to  chasten  him." 

"Just  come  this  way  please,  Ur.  Horton,"  said  a 
voice  from  the  door. 


I 


i' 


176 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


■'m 


II- 


If ' 


m 


li  n 


imi 


Sitting  .ilonc,  1  larvcy  listened  to  the  muffled  sounds 
within,  rhe  crying  subsided  as  the  odour  of  chloro- 
form arose;  and  the  voice  "f  weeping  was  now  the 
mother's,  not  the  child's.  I'mally  both  grew  still  and 
a  long  silence  followed.  So  long  did  it  seem  that 
llarvcy  had  moved  towards  the  door,  intending  to 
walk  about  till  the  operation  should  be  over,  when 
suddenly  both  men  emerged  from  the  tiny  apartment. 

"  it's  all  over,"  said  Dr.  Ilorton — "  and  ;  think  it's 
been  successful ;  I  believe  the  child  will  see  as  well 
as  ever  she  did." 

1  larvcy  looked  as  relieved  as  though  he  had  known 
the  parties  all  his  life. 

"  I  say,  Horton,"  broke  in  the  other  doctor, 
••  what'U  you  charge  for  this  ?  lietter  tell  me,  and  I 
can  tell  her,"  nodding  towards  the  room  where  the 
mother  was  still  bended  over  the  beshadowed  child. 

"  Oh,  that's  not  worrying  mc,"  said  the  specialist, 
carefully  replacing  an  instrument  in  his  case  as  he 
spoke.  "  Nobody  looks  for  money  from  a  neigh- 
bourhood like  this,"  indicating  the  unpromising  sur- 
roundings by  a  glance  around.  "  I'll  get  my  reward 
in  heaven." 

"  A  little  on  account  wouldn't  do  any  harm,"  re- 
turned the  cheery  Wallis.  "  It's  out  of  the  question 
t(j  ask  a  man  of  your  station  to  pike  away  down  here 
for  nothing;  Cm  going  tn  try  anyhmv — ^just  wait 
here  till  I  come  back,"  wiierewith  he  turned  towards 
the  little  room,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  him 
as  he  entered. 

He    had    hardly    got    iii;^idc    before,  to    Harvey's 


FRIENDSHIP  S    MINISTRY        i 


/  / 


amazement,  Dr.  Horton  dropped  his  surgical  ca.ie 
and  tiplocd  swiftly  to  tlie  door,  stoopiiit;  down  t*' 
gaze  through  a  keyliole  that  long  years  and  frequent 
operations  had  left  incjre  tiiau  usual!)-  spaciou.--. 
Watching  intently,  Harvey  could  >ce  the  face  of  hi.> 
friend  diotorteil  by  an  expre-i.^ion  parti)-  of  ninth  and 
partly  of  indignation.  l'\)r  iJr.  llorttui  could  de.>ci)' 
the  woman  .-.till  bending  over  the  little  bed,  evidently 
<jblivious  to  the  fact  that  the  doctor  had  returned  • 
and  Dr.  Wallis  himself  wa.-:  conducting  a  hurried 
search  through  his  pockets  upper  and  nether,  a  gri- 
mace of  satisfaction  indicatuig  that  he  had  found  at 
last  the  material  he  was  in  quest  of. 

The  spying  specialist  had  barely  time  to  spriPi.^ 
back  to  where  1  larvey  was  standing,  when  the  other 
reappeared,  smiling  and  jubilant. 

"  Vou  never  can  tell,  Horton,"  he  began,  holding 
out  a  bill;  "you  can  never  tell— there's  nothing 
like  trying.  Here's  a  five  I  collected  for  you,  and 
it  was  given  gladly  enough.  It's  not  very  much 
but " 

"  Vou  go  to  the  devil,"  broke  in  the  specialist, 
tr)-ing  {■■'  look  angry;  "you  think  you're  infernal 
smai;.  don't  you  •* — but  you  haven't  got  all  the  brain, 
in  the  wiirid." 

"You  surprise  me.  Dr.  Horton,"  the  other  began 
vigorous!)-,  commanding  a  splendid  appearance  of 
iniurcd  amazement.  "  Ynw  don't  mean  to  insinuate 
that  I  put  part  of  the  fee  in  my  pocket,  do  you?  "  he 
demanded,  striking  a  martial  attitude,  and  inwardly 
very  proud  of  the  way  he  had  changed  the  scent. 


'.'  r 


(>  s 


17S 


THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 


••  I'ut  that  raji  back  in  your  kit-iumd  ve.-t  packet 
whcri:  )iiu  ^ut  it,"  growled  tlic  Mjiuur  piivsjcian 
ab  he  picked  up  his  hat.  "  \'uii  may  wuik  )  our 
:^mart-Alcc  tricks  with  the  puor  iiulivcs  ri  .'.nd  here 
— but  )ou  can't  come  it  on  me.  Take  Simmons 
alon^  and  find  liini  some  pkice  to  ku'  his  head,'  he 
added,  opening  the  door  and  leacHn;^;  the  wuy  out- 
ward to  the  street. 

The  three  walked  together  lor  perhaps  tV>ur  or  five 
squares,  the  two  physicians  stiil  engaged  m  the 
genial  hostilities  that  Dr.  W'a'li^'s  financial  genius 
had  provoked.  Suddenly  the  latter  came  U>  ..  r-tand- 
-tii!  at  the  junction  ol  two  street.^,  hi-^  e}"c-  raving 
along  a  richly  shaded  avenue  to  hi.>  left. 

"  1  guess  you'd  better  go  along  home,  Horton," 
he  said — "  you'll  want  to  po>t  \our  ledger  an)  how, 
.liter  a  profitable  day  like  tin-  And  I  think  I'll  Just 
take  your  friend  here  and  go  on  the  still  hunt  for  a 
little.  Don't  look  mucn  like  a  boarding-house 
strert,  does  it?"  he  added,  .i<  he  marked  the  i  nk  of 
.-uri)ri.-c  on  jiis  contemporary'^  face.  "  15iit  }'i'ii  never 
cai:  tell — anyhow,  I've  gi't  a  pl.ice  along  here  in  my 
mind's  eye,  and  we  may  ju^t  as  well  find  out  now  iis 
any  other  time." 

"  Wish  you  luck,"  the  older  man  rlung  after  them 
as  he  went  his  way  ;  "if  j-ou  get  lodgings  at  any  of 
tlit'se  houses  you'll  have  to  sleej)  '.vith  the  butler." 

•■It  does  look  a  little  unlikel)-.  I'll  admit."  Dr. 
W. tills  -aid  to  Harvey  as  they  .-tarted  down  tlie  ave- 
m;;- ;  '•  Init  the  whole  case  is  quite  unusu;.'.  This  is 
a    woman  of  over  fifty   I'm   going  to  see — nobody 


rrrr^ 


■^ 

? 


FR/ENDSHIPS    M  J  M  S  T  R  Y 


«7v 


know  -  exactly — and  she-  almost  the  only  ncii  pa- 
tient I've  got.  She  live^  a  >lraiiL;c,  half  hermit  kind 
ot  li:e — goes  out  almo-t  none  -aiui  mighty  tew  peo- 
ple ever  ,;et  in.  Except  her  clergyman,  ^A  course — 
she  inM~t>  on  seeing  her  minister  con-uuitly  ,  I  think 
hc'>jii7t  acur.it'_,  and  I've  always  liad  tile  '^eling  that 
he'd  cuii.-.idc  1  death  great  gain — if  it  came  to  her. 
But  for  I  while  back  ^he'>  been  talking  to  me  a-  il 
she  '.■.;; Idn't  mind  -omc  nnc  i-i  the  house,  if  the)- 
were  c  iigcnial.  It  -eem-  i>ne  or  two  attempts  Iia\e 
bi-en  ni.ide  to  break  m  .it  night-. — and  the  butler 
sieei)-  .  ke  a  gra\en  image.  Just  the  other  da>-  1 
'^uggu-  !  she  might  take  in  a  nurse,  a  young  lad}-  I 
kni>\v,  v.iio  want-  l-  gel  a  ouict  li  'lue — but  I  nearl\- 
ha.I  to  r.i'i  for  sliclter  ;  slvj  gave  her  whole  se.\  the 
fii'.e-t  c'.jc. 'rating  l\\. 
f'..r  li  ;r,  tliank  j-ou." 

•'  I-    -:■.-■   .1    little   uc 
quire. 

"Ihc  ■'.  .ctoi  '  Hiked  him  in  the  c>  and  laughed. 
"  WV::.  :  rJier  Odil,  1  -hould  say  ae  is.  Hut  she's 
ju-t  as  genuine  a-  she  can  he.  And  if  you  get  in 
tiiere  y  .  I'lI  be  as  comfortable  as  )-or.'d  be  in  W'ind-or 
Ca-tie  -  jiuet  and  -ecluded  as  a  nv>nastery,  the  very 
place   :    I    a  -tudeiit       She'-  been  _;  ithering  l)eautir.il 

thing-,   ■  :;•  year-,  all  -ort-  of  curios  and  raritie md 

she-  !\:-  .III. lit  ly  fond  of  animal-  keep-  a  regular 
menagere.  Am;  -he'-  great  on  kee-ning  well  ;  pre- 
tend- t>  despi-e  ;i!l  ilocti>rs,  ami  has  a  few  form  'is 
tor  every  ..cca-ion.  Peep  breathing  is  her  spcci.alty 
— she's     a    regular    fienJ.    on    deep    breathing.      But 


liearii   for  years.      \o  wuineil 
^"    Harve\-    \ciiturcd   to  en- 


j;i  II    1111., 


!-l 


MICROCOPY   RESOIUTION    TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


li25  i  u 


1.6 


^    >IPPLIED  IIVHGE 


'653   East    Mam    Street 

Rochester.   Ne«   York         U609       USA 

(716)   ^82  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)    288  -  5989  -  Fa, 


r  n .  t.m'^  :••  ^-^^K»?s.9f.  ■  IP  *  ■^"'aspr?*?©!:^ 


'  1^  mxi^  jw^TsaaiTi  m 


I  So 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


! 


M 


you'll  see  for  yourself,"  the  doctor  concluded,  as  they 
turned  in  at  an  open  gate  and  began  to  mount  the 
stone  steps  that  led  to  a  rather  imposin-i-loukiii'^ 
door. 

Spacious  and  inviting,  if  somewhat  neglected  look- 
ing,  were  the  old-fashioned  grounds  about  the  old- 
fashioned  house.     Great   spreading  trees  stood  here 
and   there,  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  in  all,  some  in  the 
sombre   dishabille   of  autumn,  some  in  unchanging 
robes     of    green.     And     two    summer-houses, ''one 
smaller  than    the  other,  nestling  in  opposite  corners, 
stood  deserted  and  lonely  amid  the  new-fallen  carpet 
of  dying  leaves.     A  solitary  flower-bed,  evidently  ill 
at  ea-e   amid  the   unfettered   life   about  it,  waved  its 
few  remaining    banners,    the   stamp  of  death   upon 
them,  pensively  in  the  evening  breeze.     Th-  re  was 
an  ancient  fountain,  too,  but  its  lips  were  parched  and 
dry,  and  the  boyish  form  that  stood  in  athletic  pose 
above  it  looked  wear}'  of  the  long  and  fruitless  vigil. 
Two  brazen  dogs  stood  near  the  gate,  sullen  and  un- 
caring  now,  the  chill  wind  awakening  memories  of 
many  a  winter's  storm,  and  foretelling,  too,  another 
winter  wailing  at  th.e  door. 

Dr.  Wallis  gave  the  brazen  door-knob  an  un- 
commonly vigorous  tug.  "  .She  likes  you  to  ring 
as  if  you  meant  it,"  he  explained  to  Harvey,  the  dis- 
tant product  of  his  violence  pealing  and  repealing 
through  the  house. 

"  We'll  likely  have  to  wait  a  little  while,"  the  doc- 
tor remarked  ;  '<  she  never  lets  a  servant  come  to  the 
door  till  she  peeks  through  that  upper  left-hand  win- 


ii 


FR/ENDSH/P'  S    M  IN /SIR  Y 


i8i 


dow  herself.     Don't  Ujok-,"  lie  added  hurriedly  ;"  she 
miglitn't  let  us  in  if  she  catches  an)-  one  looking;." 

After  a  few  minutes'  further  waiting;,  the  harsh 
grating  of  the  hea\)'  bolt  and  tlic  violent  turning  of 
the  reluctant  handle  were  followed  by  the  apparition 
of  a  head  of  iron  gray,  a  pair  of  absolutely  eniotiiui- 
less  eyes  fixed  upon  the  visitors  in  turn.  Dr.  W'aliis 
nodded,  the  man  barely  returning  his  salutation  as  lie 
led  the  way  int(^  a  large  and  solemnly  furnished 
apartment  on  the  left.  Harvey's  principal  impression 
was  of  the  height  of  the  ceiling  and  the  multitude  of 
mirrors  that  confronted  l:im  on  every  hand  ;  there 
seemcti  to  be  a  goodly  assemblage  in  the  room,  so 
often   were  its  two  solitary  inmates  reproduced. 

Harvey  and  the  doctor  were  still  engaged  in  a 
mental  inventory  of  the  room,  its  paintings,  bronzes, 
and  what  not,  all  claiming  their  attention,  when  the 
solemn  head  of  iron  gray  reappeared  at  the  door. 

"  Miss  h'arringall  says  she'll  see  you  in  her  room," 
said  the  sphinx,  his  lips  closing  with  an  audible 
smack ;  whereupon  the  scanty  procession  was  re- 
formed, following  the  servant  as  he  led  the  way  up  a 
winding  flight  of  stairs.  The  man  knocked  at  the 
door  of  a  small  sitting-room,  precipitately  retiring  as 
soon  as  he  had  pushed  it  partly  open. 


1  i 


f\\ 


■I  a 


I 


riir 


,  ii 


XVIII 
VOICES  OF   THE  PAST 

HARVEY    followed    his    companion  inbitlc, 
peering   eagerly    for    what    awaitec:   them.' 
The  mistress  of  the  house   fitted  her  sur- 
roundings well.     She  was  reclining  in  an  ample  chair, 
a  half-emptied  cup  of  tea  on  a  little  table  be.ide  her. 
She  was  evidently  much  above  medium  height,  spare 
and  thin,  a  rusty  dressing-gown  folded  loosely  about 
her.     Her  hair  was  quite  gra)-.  and  quite  at  liberty, 
not  at  all  ill-becoming  to  the  large,  strong  features 
and  the  well-formed  head.     The  brow  was  broad  and 
high,   wrinkled  slightly,  and   furrowed   deeplv  down 
the  centre  ;  high  cheek-bones,  a  rather  mobile  mouth, 
a   complexion  still  unfaded,  joined  with  the  bright 
penetrating    eyes    to   make  a   decidedly  interesting 
countenance.     The  face  looked  capable  of  tenderness, 
yet  as  if  tenderness  had  cost  her  dear.     A  pair  of 
gold-rimmed  glasses  sat  shimmering  on  her  brow  ■ 
one  swift  shuffle  of  the  face  reduced  them  to  their 
proper  sphere. 

••  l^arlow  didn't  tell  me  there  were  two.'"  >he  said 
without  looking  at  the  doctor.  She  was  lookino-  be- 
yond him  at  the  stranger's  face.  "  He's  -ct  "both 
arms  anyhou-,  thank  heaven."  she  said,  lor.king  at 
i  farvey.     «■  ]  le  nearly  always  brings  people  with  one 

182 


VOICES    of    The    PAST 


183 


arm,  that  'vanthelp,"  she  explained  to  the  newcomer, 
motioning  towards  a  chair. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Simmon.-,,  iMiss  Farringall,"  the  doc- 
tor began  blandly.     "  I  took  the  libert\- " 

"  I  knov/  him,"  she  interrupted  gentl>-,  still  survey- 
ing Harvey,  "  Didn't  you  hear  mc  talking  to  him? 
A  nd  I  know  all  about  the  liberty  too — I  do  wish 
Barlow  would  count  people  before  he  shows  them 
up." 

"  How  do  you  feel  to-day,  Miss  Farringall  .> "  en- 
q-iired  tlie  physician. 

"  Ik-tter,"  replied  his  patient.  "  1  gave  ]5arlow 
that  medicine  you  sent  me — I  always  feel  better  after 
Barlow  takes  it.  Is  your  friend  going  to  be  a  doctor  ?  ' 
she  went  on  in  the  same  breath,  inclining  her  head 
towards  Harvey. 

"  Oh,  no,  he's  going  to  the  university — he's  a 
student,"  the  doctor  informed  her. 

"  That's  quite  different— that'll  save  somebody's 
lite.  \\  iKit  did  you  bring  him  for?  "  she  demanded 
frankl)-,  turning  the  keen  eyes  for  the  first  time  from 
Harve\-'s  face  and  fastening  them  on  the  doctor's. 

"  Well,  he  was  with  me  ;  he's  a  friend  of  Dr.  Hor- 
ton's  and  mine— and  I  thought  Td  just  bring  him  in. 
T.iis  is  his  first  day.  Ik'sides,"  and  the  wily  tactician 
paused  a  moment,  "  I  w-inted  to  ask  your  advice." 

"  I'll  charge  you  dr  s  rates,"  said  the  spinster, 
restoring  her  spectacles  to  their  former  altitude. 

"  That's  cheap  enough  for  anj^thing,"  retorted  the 
other.  -And  anyhow,  Til  take  the  usual  time  to 
pay  it.      But  seriously.  Miss  Farringall,  I  want  your 


i; 


1S4 


•THE    U^'EB    OF    TIME 


counsel  on  a  matter  we're  both  interested  in.  You 
see,  I've  promised  to  help  Mr.  Simmons  get  a  board- 
ing-house  if  1  can,  and  I  thought  you  might  knou' 
of  some  suitable  place-you've  lived  so  long  in  the 
city,    he  explained  with  an  amiable  smile. 

"  That's  remarkably  true,"  interrupted  the  lad)-  as 
jhe  rattled  the  spoon  in  the  cup  beside  her--  and 
I  ve  knocked  about  so  much ;  li^cd  in  the  streets 
haven  t  1  ?— been  a  kind  of  a  cit>-  missionary,  I  sup- 
pose. What  kind  of  a  place  does  your  fncnd 
u-ant.?     shu  enquired  with  mock  seriouMiess. 

"  Oh,  any  nice  cjuiet  place,"  answered  the  intrepid 
doctor,  "  with  plain  honest  people  that'll  make  him 
comfortable.  He  wants  qu.et-and  refinement- 
more  than  anything  else,  1  should  sa)-." 

"U  1  had  my  things  on,  I'd  just  go  out  now  and 
enquire  around  among  the  neighbours,"  the  woman 
avowed  gravely,  trying  to  control  two  vcvy  rebellious 
corners  about  her  mouth.  "  Where  do  you  come 
from,  sir?"  she  asked  abruptly,  turning  on  the  Mlent 
Harvey. 

"  I'rom  the  country,  Miss  Tarringal]— from  a  place 
called  Glenallen." 
"  Parents  living  ?  " 

"  M>-  mother's  living,  ma'am ;  she  lives  alone— ex- 
cept, I  have  a  sister." 
"  What's  her  name  ?  " 
"  Jessie." 

"  Sensible  name.     Are  3'ou  a  churchman  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Miss  Farringall_at  least  I  hope  so  " 
"High?" 


U  •! 


R  iilfi  i  l 


VOICES   of    Th,    PAS-T 


i8; 


"No,"  answered  I  larvty,  wondcrin-  slightly. 
"X  J,  just  rrcsbytcrian." 

•'  Oh  !  "  said  iMis:,  Fanni,t;ali,  ••  I  .co.  But  you  can 
repeat  the  creed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  learned  thai  at  .>chuul." 

"  And  if  you  were  hvin-  in  a— ni  a  church  family, 
you'd  be  wilhn-  to  conic  in  to  prax  ers  when  tne 
rector  came  ?     Voud  be  (iiute  wiUin- ,'  1  .uppose  ?  ■ 

"  I'd  love  to,"  said  llai\e)'  ferventiv. 

"  vVnd  do  }ou  love  aniniiis  ?" 

"  A  good  mail}-,"  Ilarve}-  answered  cautiously. 

"  Birds?" 

"  1  love  birds,"  said  Harvey. 
"  Dogs  ?  " 

"  Better  still,"  replied  the  interrogated. 
"  Cats  ?  " 

"  Sometimes.  Of  course,  iMiss  Farringall,  I  won't 
have  a  great  deal  of  time  to  devote  to  pets.  I'll 
luive  to  stud>-  pretty  hard  ;  ifs  largeh"  through  the 
kindness  ot  a  couple  of  friends  that  I  have  the 
chance  to ." 

But  his  interrogator  was  alread>-  ringing  a  hand- 
bell with  great  vigour. 

"Barlow,"  she  said,  as  the  butler  reappeared, 
"  bring  Grey  here." 

"  Yes,  mum,"  murmured  the  mobile  >ervant  as  he 
disappeared,  returning  a  minute  later  with  a  large 
-specimen  of  the  feline  tnbc  at  his  heels.  The  ani- 
mal was  mewing  loudly  as  it  came.  Barlow  turned 
and  departed  as  his  four-footed  companion  bolted  in 
at  the  open  door. 


1 8(1 


THE    U^EB    OF    TIME 


11^ 


Mi.ss  ]\-irrin-all  made  a  sliglit  outward  motion  with 
her  liands  and  the  cat  promptly  spran;j^  into  her  lap. 
Ihen  he  turned  to  .survey  the  company,  wasting 
only  the  briefest  glance  on  the  .:  .ctor's  famiHar  lace, 
but  subjecting  Harvey  'o  the  scrutiny  that  his 
strangeriiuod  -eemed   to  render  neces.-ai\-. 

"  You  ma\-  go,  Grey,"  the  unman  said  in  an  ai- 
mo^^t  inaudible  voice,  whereupon  the  cat  slowly  de- 
scended, standing  still  a  moment  to  continue  its  ex- 
aminati'.n  of  the  stranger.  Gradually  it  dreu  clo>er. 
rubbing  its  .^ides  at  length  against  I  larvey's  ankle^. 
still  scrutinizing  the  face  above.  llarve\-  smiled, 
whereat  the  creature  looked  more  intent!}-  than  be- 
fore. 

"  Dont  ,^peak,"  whispered  Miss  Farringall,  '•  I  be- 

heve  he's  going  to "  the  prediction  lo.->t  in  a  little 

gasp  of  excitement  as  tlie  feline  suddenly  bounded 
into  Harvey's  lap,  thence  to  his  shoulde--,  its  tail 
a!o»f  like  a  banner,  while  a  gentle  purring  i-sued 
forth  as  it  began  an  affectionate  circuit  of  Harve}'s 
head. 

Miss  I-'arringall's  face  was  radiant,  her  si)ectacles 
now  at  high  mast  as  a  result  of  much  facial  contortion. 

"  You  can  ,-tay  here  if  you  like,  Mr.  .Simmons,  till 
— till  I  hnd  a  place  lor  you,"  she  said,  her  eyes  still 
fixed  m  admiration  on  tne  cat.  Dr.  WaUis  said 
nothing,  inv.ai-dly  blessing  the  wliole  feline  race. 

"You're  very  kind,  ma'am,"  Harvc}-  began,  his 
face  crimson  with  an  excitement  lie  could  hardly  ex- 
plain. "And  I'll  be  good  to  Grey,"  he  added 
desper,  tc!\-,  not  knowing  what  el^e  to  say. 


VOICES 


of     The    PA^T 


187 


•'  \  ou  mustn't  feed  Inni,  niind,"  the  other  broke 
out  intensely—"  nut  a  niuuthtul  .,1  an^thm-.  And 
no  thanks,  if  you  pica.c  ;  I  never  kneu  G>xA-"to  make 
a  nn.take.  IJeMdcs,  th.ere^  M,methin-  ab^.ut  you 
that  remind,  me  ol—of  ^umebod>-  el.e."  .iie  con- 
cluded, lier  tone  softened  into  unwonted  i^entleness. 

•■  \\'as  he  a  relative.  .Mi,-.  I-arnnj;alI  ?  ''  the  doctor 
ventured,  anxiou.-,  tiuit  the  reference  siiould  be  ap- 
propriately recei\ed. 

"  Who  said  he  uas  a  he  at  all  ;>"  retorted  his  friend, 
turnin-  >uddeniy  upon  him  as  .he  groped  aloft  for 
the  de{)artetl  ,-pectacles. 

"  Vou  can  have  the  room  over  the  dininc^r-room," 
she  went  on.  addre>.sin-  Harvey  a-ain  ;  •'  it  oi)ens  on 
the  lawn,  and  )-ou  must  leave  your  window  open 
Mimmer  and  winter— wherever  you  maybe  in  winter," 
she  corrected  ;  •'  an.l  breathe  deep—breathe  deep  o'f 
the  tre.h  air  of  heaven  -ou  a  deep  breather. 

Air.  bimmons  ?  "  she  enn  xiously. 

"  ^''''■'  "^•^■^^''  ^'^"''k'lit  out  it,"  said  Harvey 

frankly:  ••  but  I'll  try  an.  .earn,  Miss  Farrin<;all,- 
quenchinnr  a  smile  as  he  looked  up  at  the  earnest 
face. 

"  It>  hte,"  she  assured  him  earnestly,  "  j)ure  life." 
-  Mi-ss  FarringaH's  ri-ht,"  the  doctor  added  -ravely. 
"  ^'''^^■'■^■'■^    nothing    more    connected    witli    life    than 
breatliing.      I've  often  noticed  that  in  mj-  practice." 

But  the  irreverent  reflection  was  wasted  on  the 
zealous  lieart  of  Miss  Farringall.  "  Wlicre  are  you 
k'o.ng  to  stay  to-night  ^  "  she  asked  ;  '•  it'll  soon  be 
dark." 


i88 


THE    IV EB    OF    T 1  !^ E 


■  hi 


Harvey  hesitated.  "  I  thought  I'd  just  take  Inm 
home  witli  nic,  "  the  doctor  vohintcercd  ;  "then  he 
could  come  liere  to-morrow." 

"  Where's  your  trunk  ?  "  pursued  the  Iiostess. 

"  It's  at  the  ^tation,"  said  Harvey;  "  I've  got  the 
check." 

"  Barlow'U  attend  to  liaving  it  sent  up ;  there's 
really  no  reason  for  him  going  a\va\-  from  here  to- 
night. I'm  willing—you  and  Grey  are  credentials 
enough  fur  me,"  she  added,  her  face  r-jlaxing  into 
a  more  pronounced  smile  than  Harvey  had  seen  there 
before. 

Dr.  Wallis  was  already  moving  towards  the  door. 
The  grave  Barlow  had  it  open  in  advance.  <•  Vou'Ii 
let  us  know  in  good  time  when  }-ou  got  ani>ther  place 
for  my  friend.  Miss  Farringall— that  i>,  when  he  has 
to  leave." 

"Oh,  yes,  I'll  attend  to  that,"  slie  assured  him. 
"  ^on'i  let  Grey  get  out,  Barlow— it's  too  cold  for 
him.  Keep  your  mouth  closed.  Barlow— breathe 
through  your  nose,"  for  he  sudden  shock  of  the  in- 
telligence that  the  doctor's  words  implied,  the  idea 
slowl}'  filtering  in  upon  him  that  a  stranger  was  to 
pass  the  night  beneath  that  sacred  roof,  had  thrown 
poor  Barlou's  mouth  as  wide  open  as  his  ears. 

"  Miss  FarringaU'll  let  \-ou  know  when  x'ou've  got 
to  leave,  Mr.  Simmons."  said  Dr.  \\\allis  as  he 
glanced  furtively  at  Harvey,  winking  \iolently  the 
while.  "  You'll  feel  more  comfortable.  I'm  sure,"  he 
resumed,  his  features  quite  composed  again  as  he 
turned  towards  the  mistress  of  the  house,  "  to  have 


%:^ 


INDICES   of    The    PAST 


189 
ased 


a  lUcin  aniiind  at  nighb— there  have  been  tu 
oi  houae-breaking  on  tliir,  street  lately." 

"  I  know  that,"  she  an..vveied  with  bated  breath  ; 
"Im  ..ften  afraid  at  nightb.  I  tliuu-ht  sunie  one 
wa.,  breaking  in  last  night;  I  ua.>  .-u  ..uie  of  it  that  I 
turned  en  the  light  and  began  reading  the  prayer  for 
tliose  in  peril  on  the  .ea— but  it  was  just  Barlow- 
snoring.  VoLi  snore  iikc  Niagara  Falls,  don't  you. 
Barlow  }" 

"  \  OS,  mum,"  replied  the  accomplished,  without 
nioxing  a  muscle. 

W  ith  a  last  cheery  word  to  Harvey,  and  promising 
to  return  soon,  Dr.  \\al!i>  withdrew,  leaving  the 
new-found  relation  to  work  itself  out  as  best  it  could. 
Harve\-  waited  a  few  minutes  amid  the  mirrors  in  the 
parlour  while  his  room  was  being  prepared  for  its 
new  occupant ;  to  which  he  was  promptly  conducted 
by  Mi=s  .  -ringall  heiNclf,  Barlow  having  retired  for 
repairs  to  a  very  startled  s)-.-,tem. 

"  1  should  think  your  trunk  would  be  here  a  little 

alter  Mippcr,"  she  said  as  she  showed  hir       ,  "  and 

I'd  advise  you  to  change  )-our  flannels  when  it  comes. 

lv\-cuse   my  advice  on  such  matters,"  she  added    a 

delicate  little  flu.h  stealing  to  her  dicek,  •'  but  I'm 

old    enough   to   be  your   mother—and    besides,   it's 

.t,'ctting  quite  cool  outside.      1  think  there"    nothing 

so  wholesome  as  warm   llanncls-warm  llannels  and 

deep  breatliing.     Sometimes  1  think  people  would,i't 

ever   -he   if  they'd   onl\-  change  their  flannels  when 

the  >veathe.-  changes— and  keep  on  breathing  deep," 

she  concluatd,  drawing  a  profound  breath  the  v.hile, 


r 


l!lN 


li      < 


h  J  M 


190 


■THE    W-EB    OF    TIME 


her  lii>,  locked  like  a  vice.     "  Supper'll  be  read}-  in 
hail"  an  hour." 

Then  she  hurried  back  to  her  little  sitting-room, 
the  kindly  bosom  rising  and  falling  as  she  faithfully 
pursued  the  wondrous  treatment.  Gaining  the  room, 
she  innnediately  rang  the  bell,  and  a.  moment  later 
tne  p.  vlially  recovered  butler  stood  before  her.  He. 
too,  had  liad  a  treatment ;  for  which  cause  he  breathed 
as  l-ghtly  uo  the  demands  of  nature  would  permit. 

"  Hand  me  that  box  from  my  secretar}-.  Barlow— 
that  ebony  box." 

He  obeyed  ;  and  Miss  Farringall  held  it  a  moment 
in  her  hands,  then   adjusted  a  tiny  key  and  turned 
the  lock.      A   queer  little  tremor  rippled  over  her 
lips  as  the  thin  fingers  groped  a  moment  at  the  \ery 
bottom  of  the  box.     Those  same  fingers  showed  just 
the  least  unsteadiness  as  they  released  the  dim  gold 
clasp  that  bound  a  jet-black  frame,  which,  opening, 
disclosed  the  portrait  of  a  man  about  twenty-tuo  or 
twenty-three  years  of  age.     She  held  it  musingl\-  in 
front   of  her  a   moment.     Then  she  held  it  out  to- 
wards   Barlow,   who  promptl)-    moved    forward    like 
some  statue   out-marching   from   its   niche,  hi,>  arms 
rigid  by  his  side. 

"  You've  never  seen  that  before,  Barlow  ? " 

"  No.  mum." 

"  Who  do  you  think  it's  like,  Barlow  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  say,  mum." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  resembles  that  visitor  of 
ours— that  young  man  Dr.  Wallis  brought  this 
evenin;-  ?  " 


VOICES    of    -Tlie    PAST  191 

"Yes.  mum,"  IWluw  absented,  almost  belorc  -lie 

had  finished  her  qucstiuii. 

"  lA)  you  think  it  very  riuicli  like  iiini,  Uarluw  ?  " 
"  Us    his    Hvin'    ima-e,    mum,     >aid    the    talking 

statue. 

•'  Vou  can  go,  Barlow." 

"  Yes,  mum,"  said  Barlow,  alread}-  gone. 

The  woman  sat  alone  in  the  lading  ligiit,  the 
picture  still  before  lui .  Suddenl)-  she  Started, 
started  as  violently,  almost,  as  if  the  dead  face  before 
her  had  broken  into  speech.  Again  the  bell  aw  oke 
the  echoes  of  the  lonely  house,  and  again  the  servant 
stalked  like  a  shadow  to  the  door. 

"  Harlow,  what  did  Dr.  Wallis  say  was  that  young- 
man's  name  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  say,  mum,"  answered  Harlow,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  been  charged  with  murder.  Ev-n 
in  the  shadow  he  noticed  tne  whiteness  of  the  lips 
that  questioned  him. 

"  Well,  find  it  out  then,"  she  exclaimed,  her  voice 
rising  as  she  half  rose  m  her  chair—"  find  it  out,  I 
sa>  .  What  do  you  suppose  you're  here  for,  if  it's 
not  to  know  who's  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mum,"  Harlow  responded,  his  tone  now  the 
tone  of  the  convicted, 

"  Never  mind  that— go  and  find  out  the  name 
Tell  him  we'll  need  to  know  when  the  postman 
brings  the  letters- tell  him  anything—go  now,"  as 
the  menial  vanished  in  the  direction  of  Harvey's  room. 
It  was  but  a  moment  till  he  was  back.  "It's 
Simmons,  mum— he  says  it's  Simmons." 


'i 
-I 


s 


i^d 


II 


% 


' 

■  l\ 

1 

'■'?■! 

1 

.ii:!ti. 

li 

1        ■ 

'' 

1 

j 

fi" 

1 

V 

1 

■' 

192 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


Mi^s   Farrinrrall  u  as   now  erect.     "  What  was   his 
father's  name  ?— his  mother  hves  alone,  lie  told  me. 
Ask  him  what  was  his  father's  name— this  minute 
hear." 

l^arlow  was  back  in  even  less  time  than  before. 
"  Simmons,"  he  said  solemnly  ;  •'  it  seems  his  father's 
name  was  Simmons  too,  mum." 

His  mistress  advanced  a  step  or  two  towards  him  ; 
the  faithful  Barlow  bowed  his  head  like  one  read)-  to 
be  offered.  "  Go  back,"  she  said  in  a  low  tense  tone, 
"  go  back  and  ask  him  what  his  father's  first  name 
was.  I  want  to  know.  And  if  you  blunder  this 
time,  sir,  you'll  walk  out  of  my  house,  mind." 

"\es,  mum,"  ai^rced  the  man,  lifting  his  eyes 
devotedly  as  he  spoke,  and  vanishing  into  the  outer 
gloom. 

"  Edward,  mum,"  he  informed  her  in  a  moment, 
"  Edward  Simmons— and  he  sajs  what  might  you 
want  to  know  for,  mum." 

A  wave  of  inek'scribable  emotion  swept  over  the 
woman's  face.  She  walked  slow]\-  to  the  window, 
gazing  blindly  out  at  the  encroaching  shadows  of 
the  autumn  nii^ht.  She  saw  the  lurid  sky  beyond 
the  city's  utmost  fringe,  still  crimson  with  the  gilding 
of  a  departed  sun.  touched  with  the  colour  that  was 
fading  fast;  even  as  she  looked,  the  once  radiant 
clouds  were  turning  cold  and  gray,  the  ashen  hue  of 
age  di.splacing  the  splendour  of  their  transient  joy. 
And  the  withered  leaves  contemptuously  to.ssed  by 
the  rising  wind,  mo.-ined  about  the  knees  of  many  a 
heartless  tree  that  had  once  Haunted  them  so  proudly. 


VOICES   of    The    PAST  193 

whispenns:  the  story  oi  their  beauty  to  both  earth 
and  sky.  IJut  the  silent  gazer  saw  h'ttle  of  the 
autumn  scene.  For  the  -rave  and  tender  eyes  were 
fixed  on  something  tar  beyond  it.  far  behmd,  nesthng 
in  the  bosom  of  departed  years  ;  and  what  they  saw 
was  blighted  with  no  decay  of  autumn,  but  stood 
fresh  and  beautiful  in  the  light  of  summer.  Green 
fields  they  saw,  and  tender  bud  and  evening 
blossom  everywlicre,  the  very  clouds  beautiful  in 
noble  -loom  because  of  the  unconquerable  sun. 
And  that  sun  was  Love— and  the  face  she  saw  amid 
it  all  was  the  face  of  Edward  Simmons. 

I  fer  eyes  suddenly  seemed  to  withdraw  themselves 
from  the  scene  u  ithout,  turning  wistfully  upon  the 
picture  she  still  held  in  her  hand.     Only  a  moment 
did  t^cy  hnger  there  before  they  were  turned  again 
upon    the    autumn    world   without.     And    lo !     Vhe 
blackness  of  it  all,  its  loneliness,  all  the  pathos  of  the 
withered  summer,  seemed  now  to  rise  up  before  the 
woman's    creative    gaze;    the   sky,   with    its    mystic 
tragedy  as   the  glow  surrendere  !   to  the  gloom,  the 
unbannered  trees,  the  hurrying,  homeless  leaves' the 
dirge  of  the  mournful  wind— all  these  were  deepened 
and  darkened  by  that  other  vision  of  summer  glad- 
ness that  now  was  past  and  gone.     For  there  is  no 
ministnuit  to  sorrow  like  the  sweet  face  of  some  dead 
happiness;    it   is  June  that  gives   November   all   its 
bitterness. 

Long  musing,  she  turned  at  last  from  the  window, 
again  summoning  the  faithl'ul  servant. 

"  Harlow,"  she  said,  the  lone  (]uitc  low,  "go  to  the 


psf'.wif* 


m^n 


f,  i 


I!  .   '^ 


U)4 


7 ///-•■  (//j/y  (;/■•  7/A/ib- 


vault  —l(»ok  ill  that  lower  Icft-luiiul  drawer  and  brin^' 
UR-  a  parcel  of  papers  there.       Ihey're  only   news 
papers."  she  added,  ••  all    tied  loj^ether  ;   jjriii.r  them 
here. 

A  tew  minutes  later  J^arlow  handed  lier  the 
l)arcel.  ••  Shall  I  h-ht  the  -as,  mum  ?  "  he  asked, 
iLuiiin^f  ,it  the  door. 

"  i\o,  thank  you;  I  don't  want  it— but  you  can 
kintlle  the  tire." 

I  hen  she  sat,  the  papers  and  the  phott)^^rai)h  in 
her  lap,  till  the  cracklin<,r  llanie  was  bri^dit.  And 
a^Min  the  wistful  eyes  pored  over  the  past  as  thouj^h 
It  were  an  open  book.  I'ar  clearer  now  she  saw  it 
than  before.  l-or  every  leapinj,'  toni^nie  of  flame 
babbleil  ot  other  ilays  while  the  hearth -lire  plied  its 
ancient  subtle  industry,  calling;  up  lon^r-vanished 
laces  as  it  ever  does,  rebuilding'  the  ruined  past, 
echoin-;  once  aj^ain  tiie  lon^^  silent  tones  of  love— 
.Hid  the  panorama  of  the  b)-i,'one  )  ears  passed  in  a 
l.ine  of  li<;ht  between  tiie  burnin-;  eyes  and  tlie 
m\stic  lire,  both  knowinj;,  both  carinj;,  both  sorrow- 
in.^^ 

It  was  almost  dark  when  the  spare  and  slender 
torm  rose  from  the  chair,  movin-;  to  the  secretary  in 
the  corner  of  the  room.  I'Vom  the  lowest  compart- 
ment of  it  she  lifted,  very  r<  ntly,  a  little  bunille  of 
letters.  Then  she  picked  np  the  photofjraph  a-ain, 
extractini;  an  old  newspaper  from  the  parcel  before 
lier ;  a  tjuick  j,'lance  at  its  date  confirmed  wliat  she 
ilready  knew.  Then,  with  the  old  daj;uerreot>'pe  and 
the  old   letters   and   the  old   f:'.(!(vl    ,^,>,v•;!^;!!»■"r  mi  lier 


i'^- 


^OICLS   of    The    I'/iST 


•QS 


hand,  she  sank-   upon  a  luissock  that  lay  hosiclc  the 
fire— the  fnc  too  was  old,  s,,  old  and  dear— and  she 
smiled    to    herself    as   she   settled   down    m    llie    .)!d 
Kiilish    way,   the     h)nely    blaze     t^reetini;    l,cr    as    it 
nunj.j  its   ^rlow  a^ain    upon  the    Unshed  and  quiver- 
iiik'    face,    as    dear    to    it    as    in    the     j.;la(i(ler    flays 
of   yore.       One  by  one  slu;   turned   them   over     the 
picture   and    the    letters   and    the    paper-- the    whole 
story  ol    her   life  was   there.      The  shadows   ^athrn.d 
deeper    an<l    darke.     as    she    sat   and    fondled   these 
preci.Mis    thinprs,   the    f)nly    real    treasure    ..f   all    her 
treasure-laden     house— but     the    (ire    burnerl    on    as 
bri-luly  as    in    other   tlays.  as    bri-htly  as    if  it  had 
never  (altered  tlnoiij^h  the  years. 


It  was  a  new  sensation  that  erept  about  Harvey 
Simmons'  heart  that  ni.^ht,  .ueh  a  .ensation  as  can 
come  only  to  the  youth  who  is  denied  for  the  f.r.t 
time  the  virion  of  his  mother's  face.  It  seemed 
stran-e  to  have  said  good-ni^rht  to  nobody  in  the  old 
familiar  way,  to  hear  no  reassurin^r  sound  of  voices 
indistinctly  chatting  in  the  distance,  as  Jessie's  and  his 
mother',  always  could  be  heard,  and  to  give  or  hear 
no  Cnal  word  of  mirth  or  messa-e  as  the  lamp  went 
out  and  the  comfortable  couch  received  him. 

TIic  room  appointed  to  him  was  replete  with  all 
that  mi-ht  minister  to  comfort,  even  rich  and  elegant 
in  Its  appointments.  How  often  Harvey  had  wished 
h.s  own  humble  home  had  boasted  such  a  ror>m,  not 
for  hmiself  but  for  another ;  yet,  now  that   he  had 


l^^nw^ 


i 


19b 


'THE    U/'EB    OF    -TIME 


i 


ilflf 


cumc  into  i:)osi,cssiou  of  all  he  had  so  often  envied, 
liuw  paltry  and  inbij^niticant  it  seemed,  how  far  be- 
neath what  he  had  imagined — and  how  gladly  he 
would  have  exchanged  it  all  for  his  little  room  at  home, 
if  he  might  have  but  again  been  near  the  dear  ones 
from  whom  he  iiad  never  been  parted  a  single  night 
in  all  the  course  of  his  uneventl'ul  life. 

His  eyes  fell  upon  a  little  table  in  the  corner, 
generously  furnisiied  with  materials  for  writing. 
It  was,  in  consecjuence,  very  late  before  he  com- 
mitted himself  to  sleep.  Yet  he  had  only  written 
two  letters,  the  first  to  his  mother,  a  faithful  and  ex- 
haustive narrative  of  every  hour  since  he  had  seen  her 
last.  It  was  a  new  experience  to  him,  and  he  won- 
dered a  little  at  the  almost  mysterious  ease  with 
whi  :h  he  filled  page  after  page.  It  was  a  new-found 
joy,  this  of  writing — and  both  intellect  and  emotion 
entered  into  the  task  \uih  a  zest  and  instinct  that 
surprised  himself. 

The  second  letter  was  begun  with  much  misgiving, 
and  after  long  consideration.  For  it  was  to  Made- 
line, to  whom,  in  a  kind  of  way  he  was  quite  at  a 
loss  to  understand,  his  thought  went  out  in  his  lone- 
liness— far  more,  indeed,  than  it  iiad  ever  done  when 
he  lived  beside  her.  Much  misgiving  about  this  sec- 
ond letter  there  was,  as  has  been  said  ;  and  yet  he 
felt  it  could  not  be  unwelcome  since  its  purpose  was 
so  tar  from  personal — for  its  main  story  was  of  the 
little  child  and  the  poor  family  of  whot\  lie  had  come 
to  know  through  his  contact  with  Dr.  Wallis.  And 
he  knew   .Madeline  would  love  to  help,  in  some  way 


Mmrjmwm* 


1^01  CHS   of    -The    PAST 


K)7 


her  own  delicate  judi^nient  would  sugj^cst.  But  be- 
fore he  was  through  his  pen  had  rather  run  away 
with  him  ;  and  .some  of  his  impressions  of  the  new 
life  about  him,  with  a  little,  too,  that  treated  of  life  in 
general,  had  sighed  itself  in  a  kind  of  lonely  soliloqu}- 
through  the  expanding  pages.  And  he  read  this 
second  letter  over  twice,  correcting  it  with  great  care, 
a  process  the  first  had  been  denied. 

His  trunk  liad  been  duly  delivered,  as  Miss  Far- 
ringall  liad  assured  him  it  should  be,  and  it  was  with 
a  kind  of  reverent  tenderness  that  the  lonely  stranger 
raised  the  lid  and  surveyed  all  his  poor  belongings, 
each  one  lying  where  it  had  been  placed  by  the  lov- 
ing hand-,  that  were  now  so  far  away.     The  care-worn 
face  rose  again  before  him  as  he  bended  over  these 
last  tokens   of   his   mother's   devoted  care  ;  and   in- 
stinctively, with  a  dumb  sense  that  she  would  have 
wished  it  so,  he  searched  first  for  the  sacred  book  he 
had   seen   her  place  there.     He  soon   found  it,  and 
carrying  it  to  where  the  light  might  fall  upon  it,  he 
turned  wi-tfully  to  the  fly-leaf.      Still  with  his  eyes 
fi-xed  on  it  he  sat  down  on  the  bed  beside  him,  the 
dim  mist  gathering  as  the  poor  misguided  handwrit- 
ing looked  up  at  him  in  all  the  eloquence  of  sightless 
love : 

"  Dear  Harx'cy 

From  his  loviits^  uiotJicr  " 

was  all  that  was  written  there.  But  eery  character 
was  aflame  with  fondr-^ss,  and  every  word  was  a 
vision,  bright  with  tend...  beauty,  fragrant  of  the  un- 


^^m;miFr^^^xri 


198 


'THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


,,i  ■:!'!;  i» 


selfish  coura^'c  tliat  luid  tilled  their  lowly  hves  with  a 
iiiadness  denied  to  many  a  richer  home.  The  verv 
waywardness  of  the  writing,  the  Imes  aslant  and 
broken,  enhanced  the  dauntless  love  that  penned 
them  ;  and  Harvey's  lips  were  touched  to  the  mute 
symbols  with  reverent  passion. 

Still  swimming,  his  eyes  fell  again  upon  the  page, 
and  he  noticed— what  he  had  not  seen  before— that 
something    had    been   written   at  the   lower  corner. 
Isaiah    66 :  1 3,    it  said ;    and   a    moment    later    he 
had    found    the    text.     The    full    heart    overflowed 
as    he    read :     "  As    one    whom    his   mother   com- 
f«jrteth  so  will  I  comfort  you."     With  a  stifled  sob, 
and    still    repeating   the   wonderful   words,  he  sank 
on  his  knees  beside  the  bed.     And  as  lie  did  so  there 
arose  before  him  the  vision  of  other  day.s,  long  de- 
parted now,  when   he  had  thus  knelt  for  his  evening 
prayer ;  a  tranquil  face  looked  down  again  upon  the 
childish  form,  and  he  could  almost  feel  the  chill  of 
little  feet  seeking  cover  while  he  prayed ;  the  warm 
li.mds   held   his   own,  reverently  folded  tc  .;ether,  and 
amid  the  stilhiess  that  wrapped  his  heart  theie  floated 
"ut,  with  a  silvery  sound  like  that  of  an  evening  bell, 
the  tones  of  the  dear  voice  tluit  had  been  so  quick  to 
prompt  his  childish  memory  or  to  recall  his  wander- 
ing   thoughts.     The    hurried   ending,   the    impulsive 
liprising,  the  swift  relapse  into  boyisii  merriment,  the 
plunge  into  the  waitmg  crib,  t'-e  good-night  kiss,  the 
sudden  descent  of  darkness.  ;    :  salvo  of  farewells,  the 
cozy  cuddling  into  the  arms  oi    lumber—all  these  came 
back  to  him  with  n  prcciousncss  he  had  never  felt  before. 


Hi 


lI 


'T^>!wr'M^&'-^r^m'  w*:^<^m^mmam:r^iT'f^^TmmKm^ 


INDICES   of    The    PAST  199 

His   loneliness,  prompted  by  every  reminiscence, 
slowly  turned  to  pra>er.     He  tried  to  thank  God  for 
all  the  treasure  his  soul  possessed  in  the  dear  ones  at 
home,  and  to  as'    for  strength  to  be  worthy   of   love 
and  sacrifice  so  great.     1  Ic  promised  to  be  true  ;  a  swift 
memory  of  his  mother's   fear  lest  dormant  appetite 
should  prove  his  foe  mingled  with  his  prayer  a  moment, 
and  was  gone,     l-'or  the  whole  burden  of  his  plead- 
ing seemed  to  revolve  again  and  again  about  the  love- 
laden  text  that  had  taken  such  a  hold  upon  his  heart, 
till  at  last  he  only  repeated  it  over  and  over  before  God  : 
•'  As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth  so  will  I  com- 
fort you."     Suddenly  he  paused  ;  for  he  felt,  though 
he  knew  not  why,  that  his  mother  to^  was  kneeling 
by  t!ie   Mercy  Seat— distant  far,  sundered  by  w.ary 
miles,  yet  he  could   not  dispel  the  assurance,  which 
warmed  and  caressed  his  verj-  life,  that  another  kept 
her  sacred    midnight   vigil.     And  as   he  thought  of 
Jessie's  slumbering  face,  and  of  the  other's,  upturned 
in  jileading  for  her  son,  a  deeper  peace  than  *--  had 
known  before  crept  about  him,  the  loneliness  vanished 
like  a  mist,  and   but  a  few  minutes  passed  before  he 
slept  the  sweet  sleep  of  ail  homeless  lads  who  trust 
the  keeping  of  their  mother's  God. 


mm^wwt^^m^m^mxi 


iff 

Kir 


v 


iiim 

t  :i  ■  - 

ik 

i). 

V  1                       1 

XIX 
/f    BRUSH    WITH    DEATH 

TT  was  quite  in  vain  that  I  larvcy  tried  to  read. 
VoY  two  nuich-loved  laces,  one  worn  and  ^M'ave, 
the  otlier  brii,dit  and  liopetul,  kept  coming;  and 
^^oing  between  him  and  his  book.  Another,  too, 
whose  setting;  was  a  wealth  of  goiden  hair. 

"  Vou  seem  in  a  hurry  to  get  on — j^uess  you're 
going  home,"  broke  in  a  voice  from  the  seat  immedi- 
ately opposite  his  own  in  the  crowded  car. 

Harvey  smiled  and  laid  his  book  aside.  "  I'm  in  a 
hurry  all  right,"  he  answered,  "  though  I  don't  know 
that  looking  at  one's  watch  every  few  minutes  helps 
matters  much.  But  I  don't  relish  the  idea  of  being 
late." 

"  Student,  aren  c  you  ?  "  asked  the  man,  nodding  to- 
wards a  pin  in  evidence  on  Harvey's  coat. 

"  Ves — I'm  just  going  home  for  a  little  visit." 

"  Been  long  at  college  ?  " 

"  A  couple  of  years,"  answered  Harvey  ;  "  they  go 
rather  slowly  when  a  fellow's  anxious  to  get  through. 
Say,  isn't  this  train  going  at  a  tremendous  pace? 
What's  the  matter  ? "  his  voice  rising  as  he  clutched 
savagely  at  the  side  of  the  seat. 

It  was  too  late  for  his  companion  to  make  reply — 
already  he  was  being  caught  into  the  current  of  the 
storm. 

200 


A    BRUSH    IVITH   DEATH 


201 


What   lollijwcd   defies   description.      I  larvcy's  fir.s<- 
thou<;lit  was  of  some  irre^nilarity  that  would  last  but 
a  inomLiit— he   could  not  ie..li/.e  that  tile  worst  had 
happemd.     A   shrill   voice   from  anotlier  part  of  the 
car  cried  out  that  the\-  were  off  the  rail,  but  he  swiftly 
rejected    the    Mi;,^i,restion.     An    instant    later  :>e  was 
as  one  -tru-i,rlin-  for  his  life.     The  en^nne  had  never 
lett  the  rail  and  the  drivei  was  quite  uncon.-,ciou.->  of  the 
Mtuati.  :i.      Dra.^rcred  ruthlessly  alon-,  tlie  car  leaped 
and   bounded   like  a   living   thing:  it  seemed,  like  a 
runauci)-    horse,  io    be    stampeded    by  its  own   wild 
plunging  as  it  was  Hung  from  side  to  side,  bouncing 
almost  clear  of  the  road-bed  with  every  revolution  of 
the  wheels. 

Hung    into    the   corner   by   the   window,    Harvey 
braced  himself  as  best  he  could  with  hands  and  feet, 
dimly  marvelling  at   the   terrible  lengtli  of  time  the 
process   seemed   to  last.     He  glanced  upward  at  the 
bell-rope,  swingly  wildly ;  but  he  knew  any  attempt 
to  reach  it  would  be  disastrous,  if  not  fatal.     Still  the 
mad  thing  tore  on  ;  shrieks  and  cries  rose  above  the 
din  ;  parcels  and  valises  were  everywhere  battering 
about  as  if  Hung  from  catapults  ;  one  or  two  of  the 
passengers  cried  out  in  plaintive  wrath,  some  as  if  re- 
monstrating with  a  mettlesome  steed,  others  as  if  ap- 
pealing  for  a   chance  against  the  sudden   violence. 
Harvey  remembered,  long  after,  how  he  had  said  to 
himself  that  he  was  still  alive— and  uninjured— and 
that  all  might  yet  be  well,  if  it  would  only  stop. 

Confused  and  terrified  though  he  was,  his  senses 
worked  with  almost  preternatural  acuteness  :  he  re- 


1     i 


■:H 


202 


THE    IVEB    Oh    TIME 


marked  the  spasmodic  eagerness  with  which  men 
clutched  at  one  another,  muttering  the  while  like 
contestants  in  a  mighty  struggle  :  Ihe  very  grotesque- 
ness  of  the  thing  flashed  upon  his  mind  an  instant, 
as,  the  car  taking  its  last  desperate  bound,  he  saw 
strong  men  flung  about  like  feathers  in  a  gale ;  two 
or  three  near  him,  shouting  wildly,  were  tossed  to  the 
very  ceiling  of  the  car,  their  limbs  outflung  as  when 
athletes  jump  high  in  air.  Then  the  coach  was 
pitched  headlong ;  the  man  to  whom  he  had  spoken 
but  a  moment  before  was  hurled  through  the  spacious 
window,  and  the  overturning  car  sealctl  his  lips 
with  eternal  silence ;  two  stalwart  men  fell  full  on 
Harvey's  crouching  form — darkness  wrapped  him 
ab(<r,t  as  the  car  ploughed  its  way  down  the  steep 
embankment. 

"  This  is  tleath,"  he  said  involun..  rily,  and  aloud, 
as  the  dread  descent  was  being  accomplished. 
Many  things — much  ihat  could  never  be  reproduced, 
more  that  could  never  be  uttered — swam  before  him 
in  the  darkness.  A  sort  of  reverent  curiosity  pos- 
St.ssed  his  soul,  hurrying,  as  he  believed  himself  to 
be,  into  the  eternal.  He  was  to  know  now  !  All  of 
which  he  had  so  often  iieard,  and  thought,  and  con- 
jectured, was  about  to  unfold  itself  before  him.  A 
swift  sense  of  the  insignificance  of  all  things  save 
one — such  an  estimate  as  he  had  never  had  before — 
and  a  great  conception  of  the  transcendent  claim  of 
the  eternal,  swept  through  his  mind.  Then  sud- 
denly— as  if  emerging  from  the  very  wreck  of  things, 
illumining  all  the   darkness  and  clothing  the  storm 


'W.-r-JSE^ 


A    BRUSH    IVIIH    DEATH 


20} 


with  a  mysterious  culm,  there  aro^c  the  vision  of  his 
mother's  face.  A  mumeiit  l;:.ter  aU  \va.>  still ;  blessed 
stillness,  and  hkc  to  the  ciuietiiess  ol'  death.     The  car 

vvas  motionless. 

IJut  only   for  a   moment  did   the  stillness   reign. 

1  hen  came  the  wild  surj^inc;  of  human  voices,  like 
the  sound  of  nany  waters ;  appeal,  frenzied  fear, 
tormentin^r  paiii,  pitiful  eiK|iiiry — all  blended  to  make 
it  such  a  discord  oi  human  sounds  as  he  had  never 
heard  before.  It  fio/e  his  so"l  amid  all  the  agony 
of  suspense  he  himself  was  bearing.  For  that  human 
load  was  still  upon  him,  still  holdii.g  him  pinned 
tight  in  the  corner  of  the  now  overturned  and  shat- 
tered car;  how  much  more  might  hold  him  down, 
he  could  not  tell.  And  with  this  came  his  first  real 
triste  of  terror  ;  the  thought  of  imprisonment  beneath 
the  heavy  wreckage— and  then  the  outbreaking  fire 
— tore  for  a  moment  through  his  mind. 

Ikit  already  he  could  feel  the  forms  above  his  own 
writhing  in  their  effort  to  rise;  one,  his  thigh 
fractured,  gave  over  with  a  loud  cry  of  pain.  The 
other  was  trying  to  lift  hmi  as  gently  as  he  might. 
Soon  both  were  from  above  him.  The  moment  that 
followed  thrilled  with  suspense — Harvey  almost 
shrank  from  the  attempt  to  straighten  himself  up 
iest  he  might  find  himself  pinned  beneath  the  deadly 
truck.  Hut  he  tried — and  he  was  free.  And  he 
could  see  through  the  window  of  the  door,  upside 
down  as  it  was,  the  sparkling  sunshine,  never  so 
beautiful  before. 

WkIi  a  g.asp  of  joy  he  bounded  towards  it — then 


i 


204 


THE    ll^EB    OF    TIME 


ul\ 


A  I 


m  s  i 


■■10 

!■ 
1 

i 

1 

■ 

( 

1 

■) 

1 

stopped  suddenly,  checked  by  the  rebuke  of  what  he 
saw  about  liim.  I'or — let  it  be  recorded  to  tlie 
praise  of  human  nature  and  the  credit  of  sorrow's 
ministr)- — every  man  wlio  was  ■■  nhurt  seemed  en- 
gaged with  those  who  were.  Stron-;,  selfish-looking 
men,  utter  strangers,  m 'n  who  had  sat  scowling  be- 
hind their  newspaper  frowning  because  some 
child's  boisterousness  distu'-*>ed  them,  could  now  be 
seen  bending  with  tender  hands  and  tenderer  words 
above  some  groaning  sufferer,  intent  only  on  secur- 
ing the  removal  of  the  helpless  from  the  threatened 
wreck. 

Not  threatened  alone,  alas  !  For  even  as  the\' 
were  struggling  towards  the  sweet  beguiling  light  a 
faint  puff  of  smoke  floated  idly  in  about  them  ;  and 
the  first  to  notice  it— not  with  loud  outcry  but  with 
hushed  gasp  of  1  rror — was  on  ■  unhappy  man  whom 
the  m()>t  desperate  efforts  had  t.ukd  to  free  from  the 
wreckage.  But  as  the  car  graduall)-  filled  with  the 
smoke,  and  as,  a  little  later,  a  distant  crackling  could 
be  heard,  the  stified  moan  became  a  cr>-,  and  the  cry 
at  length  a  shrieking  appeal  for  deliveran(.  •  from  the 
hving  death  that  kept  ever  creeping  nearer. 

"  My  God,"  he  cried  frantically,  "  y-i  can't  leave 
me  here— I'll  burn  to  tieath,"  his  eyes  shining  with 
a  strange  unearthly  light ;  "  I'll  burn  to  death,"  he 
repeated  in  grim  simplicit\-. 

Harvey  never  left  him  till  the  all-conquering  flame 
had  all  but  kindled  his  own  garments  ;  half-blind,  soak- 
ing with  perspiration,  gasping  for  breath,  he  at  last 
turned  his  back  upon  the  awful  scene  and  staggered 


m^ii^a^^imt^k^^^-iki^wij^  -^  ^ 


,»,Y--i:' 


A    BRUSH    If'ITH    DEATH         205 

away.  The  waters  of  death  were  uuw  ^-ur^inj^  about 
tile  man— if  the  unfittin-  metuphur  may  be  allowed. 
As  he  ^^ruped  hi.s  w^y  toward^  the  blow  of  the  up- 
t(mi  dedivity,  Harvey  .^tiuubled  on  tiie  silent  form 
of  the  man  who  had  .-,;it  beside  him  la  the  coach— 
a  brakeman  was  hurrying'  towards  it  with  a  ^heet. 
Then  dense  darkness  (lowed  about,  and  kind  uncon- 
sciousness delivered  him. 


"  Vc  j/v .  made  as  go.  d  progress  as  any  man  could 
look  fur,"  the  Joctor  said;  "don't  you  think  so, 
Mr.  Xick.e.'  He's  been  lucky  all  through,  to  my 
mind;  two  broken  ribs,  and  a  twisted  elbow,  was 
getting  off  pretty  well— considering  what  he  came 
through.     Another  week  will  do  wonders." 

•'  It's  bad  eneuch,"  rejoined  the  cautious  Scotch- 
man ;  "  but  it  micht  hae  been  waur." 

"  Well,   old   chap,   I   guess   I'll   have   to   go,"  the 
doctor  .aid  as  he  beg-an  putting  on  his  gloves  ;  "just 
have  palience  and  you'll  be  all  right.     What  you'll 
feel  most  will  be  the  result  of  the  shock— don't  get 
discouraged  if  you  sag  sometimes,  rnd  feel  as  if  the 
bottom  were  fal'ing  out  of  everything.     You'll  likely 
have    (lueer   spells    of   depression— all   that  sort   of 
tiling,  ycu   know.     'Twouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to  take 
a  httle  spirits  when  you   feel  one  coming  on  ;  and 
if  a   httle  doesn't  help,  take  a  little  more,"  he  con- 
cluded, laughing. 

Mrs.  Simmons'  face  was  white  and  rlrawn ;  but  she 
controlled    herself,   and    no   word   escaped  her   lips. 


'S^- 


liii^ 


!  ii  1 1 


206 


THE    H^EB    OF    TIME 


When  the  doctor  left  the  room  she  fuhowed  him, 
closing  the  door  behind  her.  A  feu-  minutes  later 
he  returned  : 

"  Oh,  I've  just  been  thinking  over  that  matter, 
Harvey,"  he  began  carelessly,  "  and  1  believe  this 
prescription  would  be  a  fully  better  stimulant,"  pro- 
ducing pencil  and  pad  and  beginning  to  write. 

He  remarked  how  Harvey  received  the  advice — 
the  latter's  lips  were  pale,  and  the  doctor  could  see 
them  quivering.  ••  Don't  fool  with  the  other  at  all," 
he  added  impressively:  "  I  don't  believe  it  would  do 
you  a  bit  of  good." 

Geordie  Nicklc  lingered  after  the  doctor  had  taken 
his  departure;  but  he  found  it  quite  impossible  to 
engage  Harvey  in  conversation.  "  1  hae  nae  doot  a' 
this  sair  expcrience'll  be  for  some  guiil  purpose,"  he 
began,  the  face  of  the  saintly  man  suffused  with  the 
goodness  of  his  heart;  "  only  dinna  let  it  be  wasted, 
laddie.  A  wasted  sickness  is  a  sair  thing,  an'  a 
wasted  sorrow's  waur — but  there's  n;ielliin'  sne  sad 
as  to  look  intil  the  face  o'  death,  wi'oot  bein'  a  dif- 
ferent man  to  a'  eternity.  It's  a  waesome  thing  wlien 
a  s(nil  snatches  spoils  frae  death — an'  then  wastes 
them  on  life,  my  laddie,"  earnestness  and  affection 
mingling  in  the  eyes  that  were  turned  on  Harvey's 
chair. 

liut  Harvey's  response  was  disappointing.  "  If  I 
could  only  sleep  a  little  better,  Mr.  Nickle.  I'm 
really  all  right  cxxept  for  my  nerves.  Yes,  what  you 
say  is  very  true,  Mr.  Nickl<\" 

After  one   or   two  equally   fruitless   attempts,  the 


A    BRUSH    IVITH   DEATH         207 

old  man  .ccmcd  to  realize  the  hopelessness  of  his  ef- 
forts. "  Weel,"  he  said  pleasantly,  ■•  I  maun  be  gaein' 
-yen's  the  kirk  bell  that's  ring.n'.  Why,  there's 
David,  he  cried  suddenh-.  looking  out  of  the  win- 
'low;  "I'll  juist  gic  ye  intil  Mr.  Horland's  care  1 
think  yir  mither  said  she's  gaein'  till  the  kirk-ue'H 
gang  thegither,"  as  the  kind))-  patriarch  made  a  brief 
larewell,  withdrawing  to  join  Mrs.  Simmons  and  guide 
her  to  the  house  of  prayer. 

"Hello.    Harvey:     Why,    you're    lookin'   hke   a 
morning-glory,"   \vas   Davids   salutation  as   he  drew 
his    chair  up    beside   Harvey's.     "I  je.st  thought  I'd 
drop   in  an'  look  you  over  a  bit  when  Madeline  an' 
her  mother  was  at  church.     Ought  to  be  there  myself 
I  know."  he  went  on,  a  reproachful  smile  on  his  face'; 
"  but  It's  such  an  elegant  mornin'— an'  besides   I'm' 
doin-  penance.     I  remembered  it's  jest  two  years'  ago 
to-day.  by  the  day  o'  the  month,  since  I  traded  horses 
uith  Jnn   Keyes-an'   I   thought   mebbe  1  shouldn't 
have  took  any  boot-so  I  thought  I'd  jest  punish  my- 
^elt  by  .taym'  away  from  the  meetin'  this  mornin' 
How  re  you  keepin',   Harvey.^"   he    concluded  ear- 
nestly, lus  elbows  on  his  knees  as  he  peered  into  the 
patient  s  face. 

"  I'm  not  bad,"  said  Harvey--  only  a  little 
.^nouchy.  Is  that  really  the  reason  you're  not  g,,ing 
to  church  this  morning.  Mr.  Horland  .^ "  he  asked  a 
^li.^'ht  note  of  impatience  in  the  tone.  David  might 
have  noticed,  indeed,  that  Harvey  seemed  ill  at  case 
and  as  if  he  would  as  soon  have  been  alono 

iMv.d   stared  at  him.     "  That  there  accident  mu.^t 


1.: 


m 


m' 


I! 


H 


208 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


have  bumped  all  the  humoursomcness  out  o'  you  "  he 
said,   grinning.     "  No,   of   course   it's   not— but'  D.- 
Fletcher   ain't  goin'  to  preach   to-day.     That's   the 
real  reason.     An'  he's  got  a  fellou-   fn.m   Blucvale 
ratthn-   round  in  his   place;  can't   stand   him   at  all 
He  s  terrible  long-an'  the  hotter,  the  longer      Thev 
say  he  dives  terrible  deep ;  an'  mebbe  he  does-bu't 
he   comes   up   uncommon   dr-,"  and  David  turne    a 
very   d.oll  smile  on  his  auditor.     '•  The  last  time  I 
heard  him,  he  preached  more'n  fifty  minutes-pa.sed 
some   excellent  stoppin'-places,  too."  David  reflected 
amiably ;  •'  but  the  worst  of  it  was  when  he  come  to 
conclude_it   was   like  tyin'   up  one   o'   them  ocean 
liners  at  the  dock,  so  much  backin'  up  an'  goin'  furrit 
again,   an'  semi-demi-quaverin' afore  he   got  plumb 
still.     That's  the  principal  reason  I'm  punishin'  my- 
self   hke  this,"   he    added   gravely.     -•  Say,  Har\c)-, 
what's  makin'  )-ou  so  kind  o'  skecr^-  like  ?_anythin' 
hurtin'  you  ?  " 

Harvej'  cleared  his  throat  nervousl)-.  "  I  say,  Air. 
Borland,"  he  began  ner\-ously,  "  would  you  do  some- 
thing for  me  ?  " 

David,  very  serious  now,  drew  his  ^  .air  closer. 

"  You  bet— if  I  can.     What  is  it  ?  " 

Harvey  stood  up  and  walked  unsteadily  toward^- 
the  table.  Then  he  thrust  the  little  paper  the  doctor 
had  left  into  a  book.  "  I  wonder  if  you'd  go  to  the 
drug-store  for  me."  he  began  rather  huskHv,  "  ar,d 
.?et  me  a  little-a  little  spirits—or  something  like 
that;  spirits  would  be  the  best  thing,  I  think-thc 
doctor  spoke  of  that.     I'm  lust  abont'.nll  in    M-    n.... 


A   BRUSH   U-'/TH  DEATH        ,09 
land     -.nd  I  ,hi„k  if  I  „,rc  only  braced  up  a  little- 

courasc  fa.hng  l.ta  a  little  as  David's  steady  J 
gazcii  into  his  own.  ^  ^ 

David  looked  long  in  silence.     Then  he  rose  and 
-outawordhetookHan.y„U.sa™/S;;:; 

man  holding  the  young   xs  though  he  would  shelrer 
m    ,11  some  cruel  storm  were  past.     Tighter  still  he 
held  huu   o.     .and  patting  him  gently  on  the  shoulder 
as  though  he  were  a  httle  child. 

Harvey  yielded  to  the  cmbrace-and  understood 
When  at  length  David  partially  released  him,  he 
oohedmto  the  face  before  him.  The  eyes  that  met 
^^n  were  sw.mming.  and  David's  face  was  aglow 
Mth  the  yearn.ng  and  compassion  that  only  great 
si'uls  can   know.  ^   ^ 

L",  •     •;,"'"-l"^'-'."'    '"^■'^   y°u  liko  .ny  own  son. 
In.     Harvey     , or    God's   sake,    do,,', ;  kill    y„„r 

sobbing  lad  close  to  his  bosom 

A    ,no„K.nt    later    he    u^bispcred    s„„K.tbi„,    i„ 
'■  ' > ^'  '  ^'ar.     It  uas  a  ,,„estio„._an,l  1  larvey  nni- 
ded,  1,1.  laccstiii  biddc,  ' 

"1  d,o„,bt  so  "  David  ,„„r„,„,ed.     .-  1  t|,„„,,„  ,„ 
one    „ ay   out.     .V„    ,f,  by  nsh,i„'._jes,  H|,e  mii; 

■Mtlnn    totb,s.     Jestby  (igl.ti,,.,   |,„vev_„,'„,„. 
i-iii    ■■'Ome  Unc  to  iiel--   --  '  "    ■  '       "'   '""' 


P  you. 


All  them  other  wa}'s 


Jd 


i 


i  ■■ 


!      I 


■ni 


H  I 


lit 


210 


THE    WEB    OF   TIME 


like  pledges,  an'  promises,  an'  all  that — the\'ic  jest 
like  irrigatin'  a  desert  with  one  o'  them  sprayin'-ma- 
chines  tor  your  throat.  I  ain't  much  of  a  Christian, 
I  know — but  there  ain't  nothin'  any  good  'ccpt  what 
Dr.  Fletcher  calls  the  grace  of  God.  An'  if  you  think 
it'd  help  any,  from  an  old  fellow  like  me — I'll — I'll 
try  it  some,  every  mornin'  an'  night;  'twouldn't  do 
i\o  harm,  anyway,"  and  the  protecting  arms  again 
drew  the  yielding  form  into  the  refuge  of  his  loving 
and  believing  heart. 

Only  a  few  more  sentences  passed  between  the 
two  ;  only  a  few  minutes  longer  did  David  wait.  But 
when  he  passed  by  the  church  on  his  homeward  way 
his  head  was  bowed,  and  his  face  was  like  to  the  faces 
of  those  whose  lips  are  moist  with  the  sacramental 
wine. 


i    \ 


\    1 


XX 

THE    RESTORING    OF   A    SOUL 

AND  you  think  you'll  go  back  to-morrow, 
Harvey?  Arc  you  sure  you  feel  strong 
enough,  my  son  ?  Vou  look  so  pale." 
Harvey's  .i:..s\ver  was  confident  enough.  But  pale 
he  certainly  ,vas — and  the  resolute  face  showed  signs 
of  abundant  struggle,  and  a  new  seriousness  sat  on  the 
well-developed  brow.  "  I  think  life'U  be  all  different 
to  me  now,  mother,"  he  went  on ;  "  a  fellow  can 
hardly  go  through  what  I  have,  without  seeing  things 
in  a  different  light.  I  didn't  think  so  much  (.f  it  when 
Mr.  Nickle  said  it,  but  it's  been  running  through  my 
mind  a  lot  lately — he  said  what  a  terrible  thing  it  is 
for  a  fellow  to  snatch  spoils  from  death  and  then 
wa^tc  them  on  his  after  life." 

"  1  le's  a  godly  man,"  the  mother  rejoined  mu- 
singly. "  He's  been  like  a  light  to  me  in  my  dark- 
ncs.> — often  I  think  my  heart  would  have  broken  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  him.  When  things  looked  darkest, 
and  he'd  drop  in  for  a  little  talk,  I  always  seemed  to 
be  able  to  take  up  the  load  and  go  on  again.  He 
and  Mr.  Borland  liave  been  good  angels  to  us  all," 
and  the  sightless  face  was  bright  with  many  a  glad- 
some memory. 

211 


1 1 


M 


2:2  THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 

••Mother,  when  you  speak  of  darkness— and 
loads— do  you  mean— do  you  mean  about  your 
siglit  ?  " 

His  mother  reached  out,  instinctively  guided,  and 
laid  a  tiiin  hand  on  one  ol  Harve\  's.  "  Do  I  speak 
much  about  loads,  my  son,  and  darkness  ?  "  .he  asked 
m  a  gentle  voice.  "  For  I've  aluays  asked  for  grace 
to  say  little  of  such  things  as  those." 

"  But  you  liavcn't  answered  me,  mother,"  the  son 
persisted.  "  Mother,"  he  went  on,  sittmg  up  straight, 
his  voice  arrestng  her  startlingly,"  you've  been  m^Lre 
to  me,  I  think,  tluui  ever  mother  was  to  a  son  before. 
But  1  know,  mother— at  least,  I  think  I  know— I'm 
almost  sure  you've  never  told  me  all  that  troubles 
you  ;  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  there  were  some  sealed 
book  I've  never  been  allowed  to  c.  Don't  }-ou  un- 
derstand, mother  ?  " 

"  \Vl:ai  do  you  mean,  my  son  ?  How  could  it  be 
so  ?  " 

"  Well,  mother,"  he  went  on,  liis  voice  low  and 
serious,  "  look  at  it  this  wa>-.  Vou  know  how  easily 
a  mother  kind  of  scents  out  anything  like  that  about 
a  son— just  by  a  kind  of  instinct.  Well,  don't  you 
think  sons  love  mothers  just  as  much  as  mothers  love 
sons  :^— and  don't  they  have  the  same  kind  of  intui- 
tions ?     Don't  you  understand,  mother  ?  " 

She  drew  him  closer  to  her  side.  "  \'c..,  my  son." 
she  said  after  a  long  silence;  "  yes.  I  understand,  my 
darinig.  If  I  understand  anything,  it's  that.  .And 
i'lii  'A'nncr  to  ask  you  something.  Harvey— you'll  for- 
give me,  my  boy,  won't  you  ?     Ikit  what  you've  just 


■The    RESTORING   of  a    SOUL      213 

said  o-)Ln.s  tlie  dour  fur  what  I'm  f^'uinjj  toask.     And 
I've  wanted  to  do  it  ever  since  yuu  came  hume." 

Harvey '.s  heart  told  him  what  was  comin^r.  Jh^. 
very  faculty  he  had  been  tryin-  to  define  was  pursu- 
ing its  Mient  quest,  he  knew.  And  no  movement, 
no  exclamation  betrayed  surprise  or  resentment 
when  his  mother  whispered  her  trembhng  enquiry  in 
his  ear. 

Perhaps  he  had  never  learned  as  well  the  luxury  of 
a  muther's   love.     Once  or  twice  he  looked  up  wist- 
fully, as  though  his  mother's   eyes  must  be  pouring 
their   message   into  his,  so  full  and  rich  was  the  tide 
of  her  outflcjwing  love,  strong,  compassionate,  healing. 
But  the  curtain  still  veiled  the  hght  of  the  luminous 
soul   behind—and  he   realized  then,  as  never  before, 
that  his  loss  had  been  almost  equal  to  her  own.     Vet 
the  souhul  tones  went  far  to  make  amends,  caressing 
him   with   tenderness,  inspiring  him  with  courage,  as 
little  by  little  they  drew  from  him  the  story  of  the'days. 
"  It  all  went  so  well  for  a  long  time,  mother,"  he 
said,  much  having  been  said   before.     "  Porhaps  too 
^vcll.     I  g,,t  the  .cholarsliip,  as  you  know—and  then 
another~and  I  was  elected  oncof  the  inter-coUegiate 
debaters.      Then    I   got   on    the  first  eleven  ;  i)crhaps 
that  pleased  me  most  of  all  ;  and  I  used  to  go  to  the 
other  t. >-A-n<,  and  cities  often,  to  play.     And"  I  was  sr, 
happy  and   comfortable  at   .Miss    Farrin gall's—she's 
been  so  good  to  me.     And  I  gradually  met  a  lot  of 
nice  pe.,ple    in   the  city;  and   I  had  quite  a  little  of 
social   lite— that  was  how  it  happened,"  he  said  in  a 
minor  tone,  his  eyes  on  the  floor 


m 


214 


•THE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


J 


The  mother  said  nothing,  asked  nothing.     A  mo- 
ment later  he  went  on  of  his  own  accord.     "  I  don't 
mean  to  make  excuses,  mother,"  he  began,  "  but  I 
didn't  really  deliberately  break  the  promise  I  gave 
you— and  that  comforts  me  a  lot.     l>iit  it  was  one 
night  I  was  out  at  a  Southern  family's  home— the>  had 
just  come  lately  to  the  city,  and  Dr.  Wallis  knew  tliem. 
Well,  they  had  refreshments  ;  and  they  had  a  lot  vi 
queer  Southern  dishes.     One  was  a  little  tiny  thing— 
they  called  it  a  syllabub,  or  something  like  that ;  I 
had  never  heard  of  it  before.     And  I  took  it— it  had 
wine  in  it— and  oh,  mother,"  his   eye  lighting  and 
his  voice  heightening  at  the  memory,  "  no  one  will 
ever  know— it  was  like  as  if  something  took  fire.     I 
didn't  know  what  it   meant— I  seemed  so  helpless. 
And  I  fought  and  I  struggled— and  I  prayed— and  I 
wrote  out  my  promise  to  you  and  I    used  to  read 
it    over  and   over.     And    I    was  beaten,   mother— I 
couldn't  help  it,"  he  cried  pitifully,  his  voice  echoing 
every  note  of  pain—"  and  then  I  felt  everything  was 
up  and  I  had  nothing  more  to  fight  for,  and  I  just— 
oh,  I  can't  tell  you  ;   it  maddens  me  when  I  think  of 
it— nobody'l!  ever  know  it  all.     And  Miss  Farringall 
tried    so    to    help    me— so    did    l)r     Wallis— but    I 
wcnildn't  let  anybod)-.     I   turned   on   them,"  lie  ex- 
claimed  fiercely ;  <'  and  I   tried  to  forget  about  \ou, 
ni.)thei— I    tried    to    forget    about    you    and    Jessie. 
Then  I  pla\-ed  the  coward.     1  came  back  afterwards 
to   Miss   Farringall,  and   I— I  borrowed  money  from 
her ;  "  he  forced  the  words  like  one  who  tells  a  crime. 
"And  after  that " 


■The    RESTORING    of  a    SOUL      215 

Thus  ran  the  piteous  tale.  The  mother  spoke  no 
word  for  long,  staunching  the  flowing  wound  as  best 
she  could  and  by  such  means  as  only  mothers  know. 
And  she  mutely  wondered  once  or  twice  whether 
this — or  that  other  night — had  brought  the  deeper 
darkness. 

But  when  his  voice  was  still ;  when  the  poor  wild 
wailing  that  had  rung  through  it  all  had  hushed  itself, 
as  it  v/ere,  within  the  shoreless  deep  of  her  great, 
pitying  love,  she  asked  him  another  question  : 

"  How  much  did  you  borrow  from  Miss  Farringall, 
Harvey  ?  "  the  voice  as  calm  as  if  no  storm  of  grief 
had  ever  swept  it. 

"  I'ivc  dollars,  mother,"  he  answered,  the  crimson 
face  a\'crtcd.  "  Hut  1  know  one  or  two  things  I  can 
dcp.y  myself  this  term — and  that'll  pay  it  back  ;  "  the 
glance  that  stole  towards  his  mother  was  the  loc'k  c; 
years  agone. 

Without  a  word,  dignity  in  every  movement, 
she  ro-e  and  made  her  way  to  a  little  bowl  that  stood 
on  the  table.  From  it  she  took  an  envelope,  her 
fingers  searching  it;  then  she  handed  him  its  con- 
tents, the  exact  amount. 

He  broke  out  in  loud  protest;  but  she  was  firnv 
"  You  haven't  anything  there  that  you  can  afford  to 
give  up,"  she  said  quietly,  "  and  we  can  afford  thi>, 
dear — but  not  the  other.  Take  it  for  mother's  sake," 
as  she  thrust  the  bill  into  his  hand.  It  was  worn 
and  faded  ;  but  his  eyes  fell  upon  it  as  upon  a  sacred 
thing,  hallowed  by  the  love  and  sacrifice  and  courage 
that  had  wakened  many  a  holy  vow  in  his  heart  be- 


■n*^ 


11  t 


■.i'i    i 


2l6 


THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


fore      As  they  did  now  again,  this  latest  token  burn- 
ing the  hand  that   held   a,  melt.ng  the  heart   t'" 
answered  its  appeal  of  love.  ^    * 

And   the  mothers  tryst  began  anew ;  closer  than 

inc  long  tai  rying  Light. 


1  ; 

1 

.fin 

■ 

iiiii.i 

•^>-^-;^:^r.^v, 


i^J^^!^!^^^' 


^r^bTlj^W  :iHf^ib.Qr  .i^w  «^ 


1 


XXI 

A   HEATED  DEBATE 

THE  years  had  lefl  Harvey  wiser  than  when 
hrst  he  entered  college.  The  passing 
months,  each  opening  the  door  a  little 
u.du-.  had  admitted  h.m  farther  and  farther  to  the 
secrets  oi  the  new  life  about  h,m-farther  too,  for 
that  matter,  into  the  mystery  of  life  it.elf.  the  great 
complicated  maze  of  which  college  life  is  at  once  the 
portal  and  the  tyjie. 

And  as  lie  stood  in  the  main  hall  of  the  great 
Gothic  building  this  bright  spring  morning,  a  remi- 
niscent smile  played   about  his   lips   as  he  recalled 
tiie    day,    far    distant    now.    whereon    he    had    firs* 
ga.ed  in  wonder  on  the  animated  scene.     For  that 
had    been  an   epoch-marking  day  in   Harvey's  life. 
Ihe  very  stateliness  of  the  surroundings   had  filled 
nni  with  a  subdued  awe  he  had  never  felt  before,  and 
ins  breath  had  come  quicker  at  the  thought  that  he 
a  humble  child  of  poverty,  was  really  a  successor  to' 
the  many  great  and   famous   men  who  had  walked 
these   halls   before  him.     His  gown  was  faded  and 
rusty  now,  but  he  could  recall  the  thrill  with  which 
lie  had  first  donned  it  years  ago,  the  only  badge  of 
rank  he  had  ever  worn.     And  how  fascinated  he  had 
been   by  the  restless  throng  of  students  that  buzzed 

217 


'MSsaim0R'¥«wumsS(^:^i&:^sw>msBams. 


liv; 


i« 


218 


•THE   IVEB    OF    T / M E 


I 


about  liim  that  opening  day,  cacli  intent  upon  his 
own  pursuit,  and  all,  or  nearly  all,  indifferent  to  the 
plain-clad  stranger  who  felt  himself  the  very  least 
among  them.  Some,  with  serious  faces,  had  hurried 
to\vard.s  the  professors'  rooms  or  -ravcly  consulted 
the  time-table  already  posted  in  the  liall ;  while  others, 
oblivious  to  the  portent  of  the  d.iy,  had  seemed  to  hail 
it  only  as  the  gateway  to  a  life  of  gaiety,  entering 
at  la>t  upon  the  long-anticipated  freedom  their  earlier 
lives  had  been  denied. 

\()t  a  few  had  moved  idly  about,  turning  blank- 
faces  here  and  there,  ail  unquickciied  by  the  stimulus 
of  tlie  atmosphere  aiul  the  chal'.cn-e  uf  the  hour- 
dumb  .inftwood  in  life's  onmoving  stream.  And 
some  there  had  been— on  these  1  larvej-'s  gaze  had 
lingered  longe^^t— who  were  evidently  there  by 
virtue  of  a  heroism  not  their  own.  their  plainness  of 
apparel  ami  soberness  of  mien  attesting  the  struggle 
that  lay  behind  the  opportunit\-  they  had  no  mind^'to 
waste. 


1  i 

4 

PI 

j 

He  was  opening  a  letter  from  Jessie  now,  handed 
to  him  from  the  morning  mail ;  and  the  tide  of  youth 
flowed  unnoticed  about  him  as  he  devoured  it,  still 
standing  <mi  the  spacious  stair  that  led  upward  from 
the  main  entrance  of  the  college.  The  smile  on  his 
face  deepened  as  he  read  ;  for  the  letter  was  full  of 
cheery  tidings,  all  about  their  every-day  toilful  life 
quickened  as  it  had  been  by  the  good  news  concern- 
ing his  progress  in  his  studies.     "  We're  quite  sute 


A    rid  A  J  ED    DEBATE  210 

you'll   -ct   anotiicr  .vciiolarsh.p,"  urutc   tijc  hopeful 
Jc'ssic.      And  then  fuiioued  the  iieu,-  ol  the  v.llaj^c— 
much   re-aidin-  iJr.  Fletcliei    .i'-J  the  e!u.,th.  and  a 
relerence  tc,  the  hard  time-  tliat  uere  i)aialy^n,^  busi- 
ness—and  a   dark    hint    or   luv   about    the    •:tiu--le 
David    norland  V. as    havin-   to  pull  tinnu};h  .  but^'it 
uiis  rumoured,  too,  that   (icunhe   Nickle  was  -iving 
iiim   a   hand,  and    doubtle>.-    he  would    ontmll-   the 
storm.     And    Cecil    had    been    home   two   or   three 
times  lately,  the  lett      went  on  to  say— and   he  and 
Madeline  had  been       en  a  -ood  deal  toj^-ether,  and 
cver)body  kne.v  huv,  .:uxious  Mrs.  Uurland  uas  that 
It  should  come  to  something— but  everybody  won- 
dered, too,  what   va.  coming  of  Cecil's  work  in  the 
meantime;  the.e  thm-s  the  now  un-smilinj^^  Harvey 
read  towards  the  close  of  the  letter.     And  the  last 
pa-e  or  so  was  ail  about  their  i-otljer.  her  sight  giv- 
•  1.^,'  as  jet  no  .i<,Mi  ,.f  miprovemenl,  and  her  -encra' 
Iie-alth  causing  J,.-.,e  no  little  alarm.      But  they  were 
li-ping  for  the    best  and  were  looking  forward  with 
g.cat  eagerness  to  Harvey's  return  when  the  colle-e 
)  ear  slKnild  be  ciidcl.  *' 

Harvey   was     tui     tanding  with   the   letter   in  his 
hand  when  a  voice  broke  in  on  his  meditations. 

"  Well,  old  spu:t,  vou  look  as  if  ^■ou'd..^ust  heard 
n-om  yom-  swcnl,..;  t,"  a.  Harvey  lo,.ked  ,|uickly 
up.  It  was  Ceci'  iumsell,  aiul  he  stoppei!  before  his 
fellow  student  a-  u  inclined  to  talk.  For  much  of 
the  antag.,niMn  i)ctween  the  two  had  been  dissolved 
-since  both  had  c^.me  to  college,  Cecil  being  forced 
to  recogni  :e  a  K.eru.m  worth)-  of  his  steel  when  they 


tf-"-  ■ 


\    \   ! 

:ii 


f    ;■ 


in 
II  f 


IS     i 


w:  T 


^20 


7/y£    ^^£5    OF    TIME 


ha'l  met  on  an  arena  where  birth  and  patrimony  go 
for  nothing.  A  few  casual  meetings  liad  led  to  re- 
lations of  at  least  an  amicable  sort ;  once  or  twice, 
indeed,  he  had  sought  Harvey's  aid  m  one  or  two' 
branches  of  study  in  which  his  townsman  was  much 
more  capable  than  himself.  But  such  occasions  were 
obviously  almost  at  an  end.  For  the  most  un- 
initiated might  have  diagnosed  Cecil's  case  as  he 
stood  that  spring  morning  before  the  one  he  had  so 
long  affected  to  despise. 

A  false  ideal  of  life,  and  of  what  constitutes  life's 
enjoyment,  and  a  nature  pampered  from  childhood 
into  easy  self-indulgence,  together  with  strong  native 
passions  and  ample  means  wherewith  to  foster  them, 
had  made  their  handiwork  so  plain  that  he  who  ran 
might   read.      The    face   that   now  was   turned   on 
Harvey  was  stained  and  spotted  with  marks  significant 
of  much,  the  complexion   mottled  and  sallow,  the 
eye  muddy  and  restless,  the  voice  unnaturally  harsh 
and  with    the   old-time  ring  departed— such  a  voice 
as   years  sometimes   give.      Real  solicitude  marked 
Harvey's  gaze  as  it  rested  on  the  youth  before  lum ; 
something  of  a  sense  of  kinship,  because  of  old  time 
associations— in  spite  of  all  that  had  occurred  to  mar 
it— and  a  feeling  that  in  some   indefinable  way  the 
part  of  protector  was  laid  upon   him,  mingleil' with 
his  thoughts   as   he  noted  the  symptoms  of  the  ill- 
spent  years. 

"From  your  very  own,  isn't  it?"  Cecil  bantered 
again,  looking  towards  the  letter  in  Harvey's 
hand. 


Ii 


II, 


'..."■'■-  ^,   ".   '■•'j^^.J.lt. 


A    HEATED    DEBATE 


221 


It 


"You're    ric^ht  enough;    that's    exacLl-.-     ,hc 
carac  from,"  the  other  aiisuered,  smilm. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  about  you,"  6    r,  •vent  on; 
"  I've  kind  of  chucked  classes  for  this  ^e:     ,•>  -o  „nf' 
to  study  up  in  the  summer  and  take  the  '  >ui)'s  '  in 
the  fall.      I've  been  too  bu,.)-  to  work  niicii  here."  he 
explauicd   with   a  grimace—"  but   that>   not  what  I 
u-anted  to  speak  to  y..u  about  ;  some  of  the  fellows 
asked  me  to  bring  you  round  to  a  httie  mcLting  we're 
going  to  have  this  evening— .,cven   to  eight  "- clock 
—we're   going   to   the   theatre   after    its  'over.      It's 
something    kind    of    new;    Randoli)h    got    on    to   it 
down  in  li.xston,  and  they  say  it's  fairl'/>uceping  the 
country.     I   believe   my>e!f  it's   the   iiLMiot  thing  to 
the  truth,  in  the  religious  line,  anybod/s  discovered 
yet." 

"  What  is  it?"  Harvey  a^ked  interestedly. 

^  "  \\  ell.  It's  a  kind  of  religious  meeting,  as  I  said," 
Cecil  informed  him— ■' ,,nly  it's  new— at  least  it's 
new  here;  it's  a  kind  of  theosophy.  >-,ni  know—and 
many  ol  the  strongest  minds  in  the  world  believe  in 
■t,"  he  added  conlidently.  •.  That's  why  we  want 
\-ou  to  sample  it." 

lln-vcy  waited  a  h'ttle  before  answering.  "  I've 
!-  '^M-d  a  bit  about  it."  he  said  at  lengtli ;  "Vve  read 
about  it  some—and  I'd  advise  you  to  leave  that  sort 
of  thing  aK)ne,  Craig." 

"  ^'ou're    not    fair."    tlie  other   retorted  ;  -  you've 
never  heard  it  expounded,  have  you,  now  ?  " 

Harvey  admitted  that  lie  had  never  had  that  priv- 
ilege. 


it 


222 


THE    H^EB    OF    TIME 


"  Then  I  want  you  to  cumc  U.-ni-ht,"'  urged  Cecil  ; 
"  come  and  give  it  a  trial  anyhow." 

A  little  further  parley  ended  ia  Harvey'^  consent- 
ing to  attend  the  gathering  of  the  faithful,  not,  how- 
ever, without  much  candid  prediction  of  the  issue. 

Seven    o'clock    found   him   there.     The  believers 
sonic  thirteen  or  fourteen  in  all,  v.ere  already  a.ssem- 
bled,  and  I  larvey's  scrutiny  of  the  different  faces  was 
swilt  and  eager.     Some  few  he  rcc-^nized  as  tin       ,f 
earnest  students,  men    of  industn.-   a.d    intelligenec. 
Other.,  the   light   of  eager  expectation    on    them  as 
though  the  my.stery  of  life  were  at  la  :  to  be  laid  bare 
belonged  to  men  of  rather  shallow  intellect  n.nvlty- 
mongcrs.  quick  to  yield  to  a  seduc^i.e  phrase  or  a 
plausible  theory,  men  with   iu.i  cno. J,  enterprise  of 
soul  to  put  out  from  .hoie,  jxt   n.t  enou-d,  to  take 
their  bearings  or  to  find  a  paihway  in  the  deep  be 
yond.    And  two  or  three,  consiMciious  amongst  whom 
was   Cecil,  were   evidently  hospitable  to  anv  theory 
however  fanciful,  that  would  becalm  the  inward  storm 
of  their  own  making,  and  promise  liealing  to  secret 
wounds  of  shame,  and  absohe  from  penalties  already 
pressing     for     fulfillment.      X(,i     intellectual     unrest 
but    moral    ferment,    had   been    ihe    tide    wherewith 
they  had  drifted  from  the  moorings  the)-  were  now 
endeavouring  to  forget  and  professing  to  despise. 

The  little  room  was  fairly  full  and  Harvey  was 
seated  on  a  small  table  in  the  corner.  The  proceed- 
ings were  opened  by  a  solemn-vis.ircd  youth  who 
evidently  felt  the  responsibility  of  his  office      For  he 


ifcLML^^ 


A    HEATED    DEBATE  223 

paused  lonrr,  looking  both  around  iiim  and  above,  be- 
fore lie  proceeded  to  read  some  ponderous  passages 
from  a  book,  evidently  their  ritual. 

Much  ci  this  \va:i  punctuated  by  ejacul.itory  eu- 
logie-  of  one,  Lao-ts/,e.  Harvey  had  never  heard 
this  name  before,  but  the  expounder  pronounced  it 
frequently  in  terms  of  decided  reverence  ;  and  he  was 
at  great  pains  to  convey  to  his  hearers  his  ,Ic- 
pendence  upon  this  man  of  unpronounceable  name 
as  the  fountain-head  of  inspiration  and  giudance. 

Ihe    solemn     disquisition    ended,    several    others 
added   their  testimony   to  the  light  and  comfort  this 
teaching   had  afforded  them,  one   or  two   venturing 
iurther  to  expound  some  doctrines  which  all  seemed 
to  find  precious  in  proportion  as  they  were  obscure. 
Such  phrases  as  "  explication  of  the  Divine  Essence," 
"  deduction  of  the  phenomenal  universe,"  "  unity  im- 
minent in  the  whole,"  were  freely  dispensed,  the  lis- 
tening faces  answering  with  the  light  ^-Iligence, 
the  light  most  resolutely  produced  w..  le  shades 
were    deepest.     "  I'aracelsus "    was   a   name  several 
luihtened  to  pronounce,  and  familiarly,  as  though  he 
were  an   old-time   friend.     One  very   small   student 
with  a  very  bespotted  face  broke  his  long  silence  by 
rising  to  solemnly  declare  that  since  he  had  been  fol- 
lowing the  new  light  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that    God  was  the  great  "  terminus  ad  quein,"  taking 
a   moment   longer   to  express  his  surprise  and  disap- 
pointment that  all  men  did  not  so  discern  the  truth  in 
its  simplicity. 

Another  rose  t<-  deplore  that  so  little  was  known 


i 


i      !, 
i      ■ 


224 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


of  the  life  of  the  great  and  good  Lao-tszc,  but  com- 
forted his  hearers  with  the  assurance  that  this  distant 
dignitary  had  been  reincarnate  ii  a  certain  American 
poet,  whose  name  he  mentioned,  well  known  as  a 
wandering  printer  whose  naked  lucubrations  ^vcrc 
given  at  intervals  to  a  starded  world.  This  later 
apostle  then  received  nir  share  of  eulogy,  after  which 
the  ardent  neophyte  quoted  copiously  from  hi.  works. 
scattering  the  leaves  of  grass  among  the  listening 
circle. 

Exhausted,  the  speaker  surrendered  the  floor  to 
another,  who  launched  into  a  glorification  of  the 
great  Chinaman— and  his  successor— amounting  to  a 
deification.  To  all  of  which  Harvey  listened  in  re- 
spectful weariness,  for  he  knov  something  of  one  of 
them  at  least,  and  of  his  works.  Sudd. -ly  the  de- 
votee introduced  the  great  name  of  Jesus  Jhrist ;  for 
purposes  of  comparison  alone  did  lie  quote  the  latter 
name,  conceding  to  the  founder  of  the  Christian  faith 
a  place  among  the  good  and  great,  but  makincr  no 
attempt  to  conceal  the  deeper  homage  he  accorded  to 
the  other. 

This  was  too  much  for  the  visitor,  who  could 
hardly  believe  his  ears.  Indifference  had  gradually 
taken  the  form  of  contempt,  this  in  turn  deepening  to 
disgust  as  he  listened  to  what  at  first  struck  him  as  shal- 
low platitude,  descending  later  to  what  he  e>tccnicd  as 
blasphemous  vulgarity.  Deeper  than  he  knew  wa>  his 
faith  in  the  One  his  mother  had  taught  his  childish 
lips  to  bless  ;  and,  as  there  rose  before  him  a  vision  of 
the  humble  life  that  same  faith  had  so  enriched  and 


>ixf     '::'7^'^ 


A    HE  A  7 II D    D  E  B  A  T E  22^ 

strcngtlicncd.  of  Ihc  liovcnly  li^rht  that  had  gilded 
her  darksome  patli,  of  the  sweetness  and  patience 
that  tliis  hsht  and  laitii  liad  so  wonderfully  wrought, 
his  ,uui  rose  up  in  a  kind  of  lofty  wrath  that  overbore 
all  considerations  which  might  have  sealed  hi>  lips. 
Moreover,  a  casual  glance  at  hi.  uatcli  informed  him' 
that  it  was  exactly  lialf-pa..t  seven— and  the  coxeiiant 
he  had  scarcely  ever  forgotten  at  that  hour  ua.-,  ^e- 
crctly  and  silently  fulfilled. 

Rising  during  a  momentary  silence,  he  was  re- 
ceived with  a  murmur  of  subdued  applause.  But  the 
appreciation  of  the  circle  was  short-lived. 

••Did  I  understand  the  last  speaker  to  say,"  he 
asked  in  a  low,  intense  voice,  "  that  he  puts  tlia't  man 
he  quoted  from— that  American  poet—.dongside  of. 
or  ahead  of.  Jesus  Christ  ?_as  a  moral  character.  I 
mean,  and  as  a  teacher  of  men  ?  " 

The  youth  thus  addressed  made  some  evasive  reply, 
not.  however,  revising  his  classification  m  the  least. 

"Then  listen  here,"  e.Kclaimed  Harvey  as  he 
reached  for  the  volume  of  poems  lying  on  the  table. 
"  I'll  read  you  something  more  from  j-our  master." 
Hastily  turning  the  leaves,  he  found  the  passage  he 
was  in  search  of  after  some  little  difficulty,  and  began 
slowly  to  read  the  words,  their  malodour  befouling'the 
.-i^mosphere  as  the>-  came. 

One  of  the  faithful  r.)se  to  his  feet  with  a  loud  ex- 
clamation of  protest.  But  llarvey  overbore  lum. 
'_'  If  he's  all  you  sa)'  he  is,  )-ou  can't  reasonably-  ob- 
ject," he  declared,  '•  I'm  not  reading  an)-thing  but 
what  lie  wrote."  still  releasing  the  stainful  .stream. 


VAi^y 


22(3 


THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


M  I  i 


^I'^rvcy  flun.^^  the  book  on  the  table  as  he  finished. 

The  gutter  s  the  place  for  that  thing,"  he  blurted  out 
contemptuous  y;  "  that's  where  ,t  came  from-a  rep- 
robate that  deserted  his  own  children,  children   of 
SKune  though  they  were,  and  gave  h.mself  tHin 
dhng  the  lowest  passions  of  human,ty-these  be  your 
^'od.,  oh  Israel.-  he  went  on  scornfully.     »  I'n  c^ 
perm.ss.on  to  retire  now,  if  that's  the  best  you've  got 
to  help  a  fellow  that  finds  the  battle  hard  enough  al 
reaJy-ni  hold  to  the  old  fa:th  till  I  get  some  better 
-bstitute  than  this."  movmg  towards'hc  ZrX 

The  leader  a'mo.t  angrily  challenged  him.  "  Per- 
haps our  fncnd  will  tell  us  what  he  knows  about  <  the 
old  faith,  as  he  calls  it.  and  why  he  clings  to  it  so  de^ 
votedly--.t's  not  often  we  get  a  chance  to  hear  Lm 
a  real  Christian"  he  added  jeeringly.  .<  and  it's  a  poo" 
cause  that  won  t  stand  argument." 

A  chorus  of  voices  approved  the  suggestion      "  If 

you  ve  got  one  good   solid  intellectual  argument  for 

t     Ic-t    us     hear    it,"    one    student    cried    defiantly. 

us  bef'i^      """  '^''^""^^  °"  S^"^^^'  P"-'Pl-  -th 

Jlarvey  turned,  his  hand  already  on  the  door  his 
lacc  u-h.te  and  drawn.  .^  Yes."  he  cried  hotly  "  I'U 
g.vc  you  one  reason-Just  one-for  the  faith  tlu.fs  in 
-c  1  don  t  profess  to  be  much  of  a  Christian-but 
I  know  one  reason  that  goes  for  more  with  me  tlnn 
all  the  mouthings  I've  heard  here  to-„ight.  It"  n"  h 
a  mountain  of  such  stuff" 

••  Lets  have  it.  then,"  the  leader  said,  moving  closer 


A    HEATED    DEBATE  22-^ 

to  where  I  larvoy  stood.     •<  Give  us  your  overwhelm- 
ing  argument." 

Plarvey  cast  a  hauglity  glance  at  him  and  those 
behind  liim. 

"  I  will."  he  thundered;  "  it's  my  mother,  by  God  " 
he  cned  passionately,  the  hot  blood  surgmg  throu4 
his  brain-"  do  you  hear  that-it's  my  mother  '■     " 

There  was  a  brief  hu.h,  for  they  must  be  reprobate 
indeed  who  would  not  recognize  that  sovereign  plea 
But    one    mtrepid   spirit  soon  broke  the  silence  •  a 
young  stalwart  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  towering  among 
the   rest,  was   quickly  to   the   fore  with    his   verdict 
"  Just  what  I  expected,"  he  drawled  derisively  ;  •■  the 
old  story  of  a  mother's  inlluence  ;  you  forget,  my  dear 
fellow,"  turning  towards   Harvey  as  he  spoke,"  how 
credul.;u,  the  woman-heart  is   by    nature-and  how 
easily  they  imagine  anything  they  really  want  to  be- 
heve.     Hcsules,  we  haven't  the  advantage  of  knouin- 
your  sauuly  relative,"  he  added,  something  very  like 
a  sneer  in  the  voice. 

Ife  u-as  evidently  bent  on  developing  his  idea,  but 
the  words  had  hardly  left  his  lips  before  Harvey  had 
brushed  aside  those  who  stood  between  as  he  fliui- 
h.msoh  towards  the  speaker.  His  eyes  were  ananie" 
and  his  burning  cheek  and  flashing  eye  told  hoNr  deep 
the  taunt  had  struck.  Ik-  did  not  .stop  till  his  face 
was  squarely  oi^posite  the  other's,  his  lips  as  ten^e  as 
though  they  would  ne\-er  speak  again 

"  Gcmmell,"  he  .said,  calling  the  man  by  name  -  I 
don  t  know  whether  \-ou  mean  to  insult  me  or  not— 
but  I'll   find   out.     Vou  don't  know  anything  about 


i>    i    |l 


22  ■. 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


rn>-  mother-and  she's  not  to  be  made  tlie  subject  of 
discussion   here.      liut    I    know  her  ;  and  I  knou- the 
miracle  her  dark  hfe's   been.     And   .f  y...  .ax- that 
that  s  all  been  ju.t  her  imagination,  and  he  credulity 
then  I  say  you're  a  liar  and  a  cad-and  il  yuu  want 
to  continue  this  argument  outside,  by  heavens,  here's 

die  door-and  here's  the  invitation you  -  is  he 

smote  the  astonished  debater  full  in  the  face     Varry- 
ing  the  return  blow,  his  lips  white  and  1,vk1.  he  turned 
to  lead    the    way   outside.      His    fuming    antagonist 
made  as  if  to  follow  him;  but  two  or  three,  spnu^ing 
between  the  men,  undertook  the  part  of  peacemak-ers 
Perhaps   Cecils  efforts    were    as    influential  as    any 
"  ixt  the    thing  drop,  Gemmell,"  he  counselled  his 
friend  m  a  subdued  voice;  •.  I  know  him  of  old-and 
iies  the  very  devil  in  a  fight." 

Whatever  the  cause,  the  fact  remains  that  when 
Harvey  paused  a  minute  or  two  outside  the  door  he 
lound  himself  joined  by  none  but  Craig  himself 

"  Come  on,"  said  the   latter,  "  what's    the    use    of 
making  fools  of  ourselve.  over  religion  ?     Come  on 
and  we'll  go  to  the  theatre.     I  told  you  we  intended 
going  there  after  anyhow-but  I  doubt  if  the  others 
Will  be  going  now  ;  so  we'll  just  go  ourselves.     There 
won't   be  anything   very  f^ne  to  hear,  perhaps-but 
there  11  be  something  real  interesting  to  look  at,"  xvith 
a  laugh  that  his  companion  could  hardly  fail  to  un- 
derstand.    But    Harvey   was  thinking  very  little  of 
what  his  guide  was  saying,  his  mind  sufticiently  em- 
ployed   with    the   incident  just   concluded,    and    he 
hardly  realized  whither  he  was  being  led  till  he  found 


::'.  ^■- 


"([Hfi^i) 


A    HEATED    DEBATE 


22() 


himself  bclu  c  the  box-oflke  in  the  lobby.  A  rubi- 
cund r.ice  witliin  was  the  back.i;r()Lind  for  a  colossal 
cigar  that  protruded  half-way  tiirou^di  the  wicket ; 
Cecil  was  enquiring  from  the  source  ot  the  cigar  as  to 
the  price  of  tickets. 

Rallying,  Harvey  made  his  protcsi  ana  turned  to 
go  a',\ay.  "  I've  got  to  work  to-night,'  he  said  ;  "  it's 
too  near  exams." 

Craig  iaugiied,  "  Don't  get  nervous,"  he  retorted 
signitkantly.  "  I'll  pay  the  shot— it's  only  half  a 
dollar  each." 

Whereat  Harvey,  the  pride  of  youth  higli  within 
him,  strode  back  to  the  window,  almost  pushing  his 
companion  from  him  as  he  deposited  his  money  and 
pre.>>cd  on  int(j  the  crowded  gallery. 

Not  iiDre  than  lialf  an  hour  had  i)assed  when  the 
spectacular  sitle,  as  Cecil  had  so  confidently  predicted, 
grew  more  and  more  pronounced. 

"I  told  you,"  he  whispered  excitedly  to  Harvey; 
"  look  at  that  one  in  the  blue  gauze  skirt,"  leaning 
forward  in  ardent  interest  as  he  spoke. 

Harvey's  answer  was  given  a  few  minutes  later 
when,  without  a  word  to  the  enchanted  Cecil,  he  rose 
and  quietly  slipped  towards  the  door  and  downward 
to  the  street.  "  Money  with  blood  on  it,  too,"  he 
half  muttered  hotly  to  himself  as  lie  passed  the  office 
that  had  received  the  hard-won  coin. 

llurrj-ing  towards  home,  he  suddenly  noticed  a 
heavy  dray  backed  up  against  the  window  of  an 
office;  evitlentiy  the  moving  was  being  done  by 
night,  that  the  day's  work  might  not  be  interrupted. 


230 


■THE    IVEB    OF    j i ^^ f: 


W 


f\ 

i'i;  '3 


•'>,.-,on.      Ihcrcu-ere  only  tuo,  uhich  maflr 
Harvey  more  hopeful  of  his  scheme 
"  \\  ant  any  help  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly 

Another  ol  our  men  was  to  be  here  to-nidit   but 

he  hasn't  turned  up—Ill  h..f  ^  r  i    .         ^     ' 

over  there.-  noddin'^  t  Id.    he  f  s^  '"  '"  ^^'^ 

Harvey  had  desert                           '  ^^'^^'^'^ '-<-^-'^0'-t  that 

"Hon-  long  u-ill  it  take?"  enquired  the  student 
The  man  reflected  a  moment      •<  Oh  U  u 

two    honr«  ••   I,  ^""-ni.  Ull,  1  rrucss  about 

"Howmuch'llyougivemeiflhelpyou?" 

nde '•   afd'i^  ''"'  '"'''  ^"'^^"^"^  y^^'l'  have  a  free 
r'cie,    said  the  man  jocosely 

a  dolllf ;',  "">:;■■  f>'"l--'  Harvey.     ..  ,  „„,  ,„|f 
a^"ar-_l  H  do  it  for  fifty  cents  " 

Hunt,  tl,e  coat  fron,  |,is  back  and  tl,c  burden  from  1,,^ 
-n-scence.     And   ,l,e   face  which    Mi«    Fa  ri„J 
uas  n„u.  con,.„,  ,o  a,vai.  so  eagerly  was  ver^br  ", 


meEr<^n(ssft&^Adi  :i»s^i'r'f^ai&-<v-:?Ki.T'.?r7!S2' 


XXI  r 

BREAKERS  AHEAD 

TIILRI',    is    a    peace,   deep   and   mysterious, 
which    only  the  defeated  know.      It  i-   ta- 
niihar    t.)    tho-e   who,  strut^_L,din^    loni;   to 
avert  a  cri.-,is,  fuul  tliat  their  strivin^^s  must  be  ail  in 
vain.      The    student   lone,'   m  doubt;     the   pohtician 
weary  of  his  battle  ;  the  business  man  fic^Iilinrr  a;,Minst 
bankruptc\-— .ill  tliese  have  marvelled  at  the  stran<Tc 
compn.ure  that  is  born  when  the  la.^t  hope  of  victory 
is  dead.     Many  an  accountant  and  confidential  clerk. 
contrivin.Li  throu;j;h  haunted  years  to   defer  the  dis- 
covery uhici;  must  some  day  lay  bare  his  shame,  has 
felt   this   mysterio         aim    when  de.-,tiny  has  at  la^t 
received  him  to  h.er  iron  bosom.     And  who  has  not 
observed   the  same   in   some  life  struggling;  against 
weakness  and  disease  ?— when  the  final  verdict  is  an- 
nounced and   Death  already  beckons,  the  first  wild 
tumult  of  alarm  and  anguish  will  presently  be  hushed 
into  a  silent  and  majestic  peace. 

David  Borland's  kindly  eyes  had  less  of  merrmient 
than  in  the  earlier  years.  The  old  explosive  spark 
was  there  indeed,  unconquerable  still ;  but  the  years 
had  endowed  the  face  with  a  gentle  seriousness,  not 
visible  before,  which  yet  became  it  rather  better  than 
the  merriment  it  had  unconsciously  displaced.  And 
there  were  signs  that  other  enemies  than  the  passing 

2-;i 


Vli.' 


-A^^.: 


Ill 


THH    WEB    Of    7/A/£ 

years  had  wrou^i,t  their  havoc  on  th  .        u-, 
J'or  care  and  conflict  ho.J    r  "''''"''   *^c^'- 

of  overthrow  to- J,o  ;«    '     ''   "'^^"^>'  ^"-^^>'  -'ci  fear 
as  the  years  could Tt  X      ^"^"^"^  ^^"^'^  ^''^'^es 

Vet  tliere  was  more  of  ii,.;,^,.  •      > 
'I'oa-  had  bc.n  of  "e     M    M    """""^■•••^"'■'■' 

">  si'^cc  at  tl.c  l,.,„ditvort-  „f  "■  *^"""S  '""g 

"-y  clouds  floated  in  I, h'"""  """""'     -^"^^ 
•l"--ir  .vay  as  if  ,|,,,,  „„>.•,„      "',"7"''  '''■'■""■'>■  "" 
^"'1  pain  and  disaimoi,,,,,,     1  '"    !         ""■  "''  '""'>'" 
"-".■    Il,c   air    wal  vol'     >,'"  '""""■'"  "--"-'I' 
J"bilatio„    iha,   hi,    exile  „  '"""''  "  """R-""'' 

burs.inf,  trees  and  new  bo'l'  '''■"'  ""'  ^ou. :  the 
^"  joined  the  .ilent  ,„t  T"  •'"''''■•"'''•■■■  K™»s 
ffencra,„,n„f„J:.     ,,'""'«■";    >''•'"   "«'^""»    "'c  re- 

"--eenK.ds„Cm,r        "''' "'"'■«'''''-■>■ '■^•'i 

^'adclt:  ■■  'he'  :;:*■;;■  ;-  '•^^-'"■a'  a,vay  f.„n,  „,,, 

''™-',;as.„the«nlbL,'rh,;;™'"^'^-"^"-""^ 
«^.at  father,. .,,„,e„..^^^ 

^n,  lots   o'   thin-rs_  -,li   h,  ,     . 

AM  . luts   lovely  :alrn '„'';;■,  ™'  ''''"«-'•  «>-ti. 
■^■'nt   tal,e  then,   a„a,-  fhV.  '"  """-"obodv 

the  birds.     N'o  „,2    I         "'■  '"''  ""■■  """-«■  an' 
"■  'he  ..n„«.Vh  ™r;   °;;^'-  -  ,et  theyre  so„,e 

t'le  Scriptur'  savs  "  h  "'''^^'  ^"'  -^tca],  as 

-adoJattht^.^.t'tb?:;",''';;^^-"'''^- 

yond  them  both  to  tl,.  h-  *^'  '■°^'^-''  ^nd  be 

"^^''•''    -rear   Jrt"'^""'^^"^°^^^ 
father?  "the  g,r]  ventur.H  ^'''''^   "^   ''^'■>'  "^^^'^ 

g      ventured,  unconsciously  turning  as 


"KEEKERS   ^HEAD 


she  spuk.-  and  pcrniittini;  her  ev«  ,. 

about  ti,.  „ci,iy  f„„„,s„i  ,;:;„,r  ™'  ^  ■"°'"<^"' 

»^  "at,  father?     Jctuiv,».i  ->.. 

,,  r  ,.,  '^'-  *\ii'it  tloun  ? 

•'  let  It  f-,11         '^'^^-^'"J^'  tl»c   ucalth    of  lovely   hair  ■ 

Another  ?;  '''^^"^' '"  ^''■-' '-i'-'"-^. 

I'avid  s  bravo   Uembli,  ""      '  '"'"'"'"   «  '^^  by 

part  o'  tl,c  >  1,   ,j  h      *•  "■■■     ■'  "'"  '^  "'-  '"■■''^•^^ 

~^'n',J:]^^l^'^"''''"'^>''^'-^'i.^  „.„• 

koin   to  kcej;  noth  n'  back-      I',-    .-  ■,    , 

"'-'■^■'^-     1  don't   thinl-   r-      .-  ■,   ^   ''^^   "I'Icd  in  busi- 
C^od/-  he  add  ;       ',  ,::;f  ^'  '-  «^'-^  -y.  ti.ank 

^"'^•''  I^'-^    lips   touch      /.,n       ^^' ""  ■^^-■'^.  -^ladc 

T'^e    girl's    a    '~:        '^  f^'''"-^  ■"   '^  bailed.  Madehne." 
^,'n.s    aim    was    about    Iiis    n.rl-      ..  r   i 

'-C  -v..  bonded  downward  to    b,^:';^::'^ 


Iff 


i 


2)4 


■THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


!  i 


■i:^ 


I 


lii 


II!  J   <s 


ij 

t<  ■ 


my  father — and  it  won't  stop  us  being  happy,  will 
it  ?  "  she  added  hopefully,  looking  into  the  care-worn 
eyes. 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  responded  David—"  only  there's 
just  one  thing  troubles  me  the  most.  It's  about 
Geordie  Nickle.  He  bought  a  lot  o'  the  stock  ;  I 
felt  at  ihe  time  he  done  it  just  to  help  i..e— an'  I 
didn't  ask  him— an'  I  kind  o'  hoped  it'd  all  come 
out  all  right.  But  it  didn't,  IMadelinc— an'  Geordie's 
lost  an  awful  lot.  I  don't  know  if  he  has  more  left 
— but  I'm  hopin'  so.  There  ain't  no  better  man  in 
the  world  than  him.  One  of  the  things  that's  alua\s 
kept  me  believin'  in  God,  is— is  just  (leordie  Xickle. 
Men  like  him  does  more  to  keep  faith  livin'  than  all 
the  colleges  an'  all  the  professors  in  the  Avorld  ;  lie's 
a  beautiful  argument  for  religion,  is  Geordie  Xickle 
— he  kind  o'  proves  God,  just  the  same  as  one  sun- 
beam proves  the  sun,"  David  concluded,  his  eyes 
still  fixed  on  other  credentials  in  the  silent  glory  that 
wrapjjed  earth  and  sky. 

It  was  some  time  before  Madeline  spoke  again. 
"  Poor  old  father,"  she  said  gently  ;  "  what  you  must 
have  suffered  all  these  long  months— m.orc  than 
mother  and  I  ever  thought  of." 

"  It's  been  years,  child,"  the  father  answered  soft!)  ; 
"  lots  o'  times  I  thought  I  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer 
— but  it  came  awful  easy  at  the  last,"  lie  suddenl)-  ex- 
claimed. <'  It  was  a  kind  of  a  relief  when  I  knew  the 
worst— real  funny,  how  calm  I  took  it.  It's  a  little 
like  some  women  I  seen  once  at  an  afternoon  five- 
o'clock    at-home,"  he  went  on  dryly,  a  droll  smile 


L 


BREAKERS   AHEAD  235 

stealing  over  his  face ;  "  they  was  catin'  them  Httle 
rough  cakes  they  call  macaronies_an'  I  was  watchin' 
wo  or  three  of  the  nobbiest  of  'em.     Well,  they  „,b- 
bkd  an  nibbled  so  dainty,  like  a  mouse  .t  a  hunk  o' 
cheesc_an'  then,  when  they  thought  nobody  wasn't 
ookin  ,  they  just  stuck  the  whole  thing  in  an'  swal- 
owed  it  hke  a  bullfrog  does  a  fly,  an'  then  passed 
their  cup  as  calm  as  you  please  for  another  helpin'  o' 
tea.     That's  a  good   deal   the  way  I  took  my  medi- 
cme  when  I  got  the  last  dose  of  it-had  a  kind  of  a 
feehn    of  relief     Didn't  you  never  notice  how  easy 
an    qu.et  a  stream  runs  \vhen  its  past  the  waterfall  ? 
Shouldn  t  wonder  .f  this  feelin'  I've  got's  somethin' 
the  same  as   the  way  some  fellows  enjoys  gcttin'  a 
tooth  yanked  after  they've  been  holdin'  hot  salt  to  it 
every  n.ght  for  a  month,"  and  David  heaved  a  remi- 
niscent s.gh  as  the  memory  of  his  own  sleepless  nights 
drifted  before  him  for  a  moment. 

Very  low,  much  of  it  inarticulate,  some  of  it  alto- 
gether silent,  was  the  language  with  which  Madeline 
sought  to  comfort  the  weary  and  wounded  heart,  lit- 
tle knowing  how  successful  she  was  ;  the  father  held 
her  closer  and  closer  to  him;  and  the  swiftly  slipping 
treasures  around  them,  that  must  soon  be  sacrificed 
seemcc    more  and  more  insignificant  as  the  precious-' 
ness  ui  love  s  possessions  grew  more  real  and  more  dear 
"  L>o  you  know.  Madeline,  they  tell  :ne  I  won't  be" 
worth  nothin'  when  everythin's  sold_an'  I  only  hope 
there  11   be  enough   for  ever>-body_they  tell    me   I 
wont  be  worth  nothin'-but  I  never  felt  richer  than  I 
uo  this  minute,"  the  words  coming  from  lips  half  hid- 


ni !   i 


2;6 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


dcii  among  the  golden  hair.  "  They  can  all  go  to 
thunder  about  their  assets,  so  long's  I've  got  this 
one— Bradstreet's  an  awful  liar  about  how  much  a 
man's  worth,"  he  added  almost  gleefully,  holdmg 
Madeline's  soft  hand  to  his  furrowed  cheek. 

"  And  I  never  loved  }-ou  so  much  as  I  do  right 
now,"  the  girl  responded,  employing  his  own  words, 
her  hand  wandering  among  the  gray.  "  Only  I'm  so 
sorry  for  mother— she  was  so  fond  of  all  the  things. 
Where  do  you  suppose  we'll  live,  father?"  she 
asked  him  timidly  after  a  pause. 

Mr.  Borland  made  no  reply  for  a  little,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  a  lane  of  sunbeams  that  came  dancing 
through  the  window. 

"  I  can't  exactly  say,  Madeline,"  he  began  slowly. 
"  Only  I  reckon  it'll  be  a  little  place,  wherever  it 
is—but  them's  often  the  kind  that  has  the  most 
room,"  he  went  on  reflectively  ;  "  I'm  sure  there'll 
be  room  for  everybody  we  love,  an'  every  one  that 
loves  us.  I  often  think  how  it  was  the  One  that 
hadn't  no  place  to  lay  His  head  that  offered  every- 
body else  a  place  to  rest  in,"  he  mused  reverently; 
"  an'  1  think  it  ought  to  be  a  little  that  way  with  folks, 
no  matter  how  poor  they  get." 

Before  his  words  were  ended  Madeline  had  slipped 
from  his  arms;  looking  up,  David  could  just  see  her 
disappearing  as  she  hurried  up  the  stairs.  Half  in 
sorrow,  half  in  jubilance,  he  was  still  holding  com- 
munion wit!i  his  thoughts  when  she  returned,  the 
dancing  sunbeams  falling  athwart  her  face  as  she  re- 
sumed the  place  she  had  deserted. 


iij; 


BREAKERS    AHEAD  ,3, 

c^l  ^°\  '°""-*"'8  '^  "■■"  Yon,  father,"  si,,  b.-an 
=xc,l.dy   J.a>v,„s  a  .i„y  paper  book  from  ,u  .,?:," 

.c  nark.ng  >vhat  sl,e  held  in  her  h^.d.    '..  ,  ,1  "j^ 

-11  n,ysclf,  father;  I  bcga,,   over  t>vo  yea,,  ",,_," 

early  .„,e  h,..,d,.ed  dollar.,-  »l,e  decLred  ^bila,,   y 

a(it.„,.pa„se,..a„dl„-a»Boin,,o,,et.„„etl,i„g 

,    doe   r     ;  "  '"'•■'='"'•   ^"""••"""«   "oaderfali 

>  oii  to  >,ee  !,o,v  sav.njj  I  could  be.     I   ,t  „„„.  1  ,„., 

ta  .on,  ..a„d   pay  .hose  a>vfal  creditors.     NVW. 
Itelp.  father  >_,von-t  i.  hcip.>'she  cried  a.-a.L 

;::;i,e,.rir'"''°""''"^°^'''--^''---"'.er 

Ti  ,  "^^   '^'^■^■'-^J    over  it  and  the 

^..e^ce^^^^^^^^^^ 

it  hdo'.'    '"■'  "'"™"''^='  l""'W>'-     ■■  Ves,  thank  God 
t  help,     n,ore   than  any  „,a„  can  tell  till  he',  c.t  a 
broken   heart  like  mine,"  he  said  pas.ionatclv     he 
::»  !:'"^-'  «''^-  -f  S--f-1  care  'bur..tinr   ;.l 

o     a,,       ::"  "'.T'  '"'"'-"  '-■"»•■■  ''e-urmnrcd 
'"«  again,  holding  the  pass-book  close  over  his  brin,- 

"'f,'-->'^^-    ;  Who's  that  .-he  suddenly   digre™d 
the  door.     ..VVhos  got  to  go  an'  come  now  of  all 


H 


'  l( 


I  r 


I 


■ill 


238 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


times  ?  "  as  he  released  the  wondering  girl,  already 
moving  forward  to  answer  the  summons. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"   David  heard  her   cry   de- 
lightedly a  moment  lateralis  own  face  brightening  as 
he  recognized  the  voice.     Instinctively  he  rose  as  if 
to   rush  across  the   room  and  bid  welcome  to  the 
visitor ;  yet  something  seemed  to  check  the  impulse  as 
he  sank  back  in  his  chair,  an  expression  of  deepenin^r 
pain  on  the  tired  face.     But  the  resolve  formed  strong 
withm  him  again  and  the  voice  rang  like  a  trumpet 
"  Come  in,  Mr.  Nickle,"   it  cried,  echoing  Mad- 
eline's, "  come  in,  an'  welcome.     I  see  by  your  face 
you  know  it  all— an'  ;  knew  you  wouldn't  be  long  o' 
comin'.     Sit  down— i*.  re,  alongside  o*  me." 

A  man  shall  be  as  a  refuge  from  the  storm  ;  so  runs 
the  ancient  message  that  has  shed  its  music  on  mul- 
titudes  of  troubled   hearts.     And    how    wonderfully 
true  !     Mow   mysterious  the  shelter  that  one  life  af- 
fords  another,  if  only  that  life  be  strong  and  true  ; 
gitted   it  need  not  be,  nor  cultured,  nor  nimble  with 
tender  words  nor  skilled  in  caressing  ways— for  these 
are  separate  powers  and  sparingly  distributed.     But 
let  the  life  be  true,  simple  and  sincere  and  brave,  and 
Its  very  existence  is  a  liiding-i)lacc ;  no  word  may  be 
spoken,  or  aim  achieved,  or  device  employed,  but  yet 
the  very  being  of  a  strong  and  earnest  man  remains 
the   noblest  pavilion  for  the  defeated  and  the  sad. 

How  oftentimes  the  peace  of  surrender  is  deepened 
by  an  experience  of  friendship  such  as  comes  onlj-to 
tlie  vanquished!  i\nd  friendship's  sweetest  voice  is 
heard   by   the  despairing   heart.     Thus   it  was  with 


BREAKERS   AHEAD 


239 

David  Borland  as  h.  fncnd  sat  bcs.dc  him.  so  grave 

.  ::fth  V"' J-^^'  '^^^^'^^''""^^  that  he  Lc. 
al     about  tlie  long,  b.tter  conflict,  as  he  obviously 

knew  the  disaster  that  had  marked  ,ts  close.     He  sa^ 
ong  m  comparative  silence,  only  a  word  at  intervals 
to  shovv  that  he  was  followmg  David's  story 
"An    I   feel  worse  over  that  than  all 'the  re.t  " 

Hut  1 11  see  yet  that  no  man  will  lose  a  cent  by  me 
•t  I  m  spared  long  enough-there's  a  heap  o' work 
-  ^these^old  bones  yet."  he  went   on  bravely,  "^f 

"And  what  about  me.  father  P-what  about  me?" 
Made  me  broke  m.  drawing  near  with  half  out- 
^reched  hands;  •<  Tm  going  to  work  too_tW 
.sn  t  any  one  ,n  this  house  as  strong  as  I  am  "  she 
afhrnied  her  glowing  face  and  flashing  ey.  '  ind' 
catmg  the  sincerity  of  her  words 

David  norland  almost  groaned  as  he  took  the  ex- 
tended hands      "  Oh    rhii,i    ^i      - 
so  ^nff        Tl      ,        '  '  ^•'''y '■^  '°  soft,  they're 

o  soft  and   tender.     And  you'll   never  do  a  dL's 

kwh.le  your  old  dad  can  work  for  you."  he  siid 
tenderly,  .az.ng  mto  the  deep  passion  of  her  eyes 

V  on  t  I.  tough?  Ill  show  you.  father."  ihe 
--i  .n  sueet  defiance.  "  Do  you  think  I'm  nothing 
■H.t  an  ornament,  a  useless  ornament?"  she  ..ked 
.-cproachtully.     ..  ^vuy  can't  a  woman  bear  he    p.-t 

-  the  '.uHe  just  as  well  as  men  ?--rm  going        io 
t.  an>-how.     I  know  how  to  do  lots  of  thfngs^  I  can 
teach,   or   seu     or   do    wood.nrk-  or    I    Cm    le  trn 
.stcnography_it    doe.n't   matter   which;    only  w^ 


^^HK!Kt,UUE*Ldnrl^l*lT'- .  ■'.VL^et'XHf^^, 


240 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


I 


fight  it  out  together,  father,  you  and  me — and 
mother,"  she  added  dutifully. 

David's  eyes  were  swimming  with  loving  admira- 
tion. Once  or  twice  he  tried  to  utter  what  he  felt, 
but  the  words  seemed  tc-  choke  before  they  reached 
his  lips.  Finally  he  found  the  \  ery  ones  he  wanted. 
"  .Madeline,  you're  a  thoroughbred, "  was  all  he  said  ; 
but  the  girl  knew  the  greatness  of  the  eulogy. 

David  turned  again  to  his  visitor.  "  Please  don't 
think  I'm  buttin'  in  where  I've  no  business — but  I 
can't  keep  from  wonderin'  if— if — if  this  has  too)-' 
everythin',"  he  said  in  much  embarrassment.  "  That  s 
been  kind  of  hauntin'  me  for  months." 

The  old  man  smiled.  "  I  dinna  feel  it  maitters 
muckle  aboot  mysel',"  he  answered  slowly.  "  I'll  hae 
what  I'll  be  needin'  till  I  gang  till  my  rest,  I'm 
thinkin',"  he  went  on  quietly;  "an'  onyway,  I  gaeil 
intill't  wi'  my  eyes  open — but  I  thoch^^^  it  was  for  the 
best.  There's  juist  ae  maitter  that's  giein'  me  mair 
trouble  than  anither." 

"What's  that?"  David  asked  abruptly;  "I'll  bet 
all  I  haven't  got  it's  not  yourself." 

"  Weel,  ye're  richt — it's  no  mysel',"  Geordic  an- 
swered;  "  I  could  thole  it  better  if  it  was.  It's  the 
laddie — it's  Marvey,  ye  ken.  You  an'  me'll  no'  be 
able  to  help  him  ony  mair — an'  the  laddie  was  daein' 
fine  at  the  college;  an'  I'm  dootin'  it'll  be  a  sair  blow 
on  his  puir  mither  to  tak'  him  awa.  Does  she  ken  ?  " 
he  asked,  slowly  raising  his  head  towards  David. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  his  friend  ;  "  but  I  suppose 
she'll  have  to  be  told  sooner  or  later." 


...f<^'%-   -Jnri-CA-     <&'■ 't.:*«Hiti':-».  «,tlNti*S(j!l.r  ^4e:L<^:  _.^- l».^il4.*.^ 


^  4  .•:■■■  <<^ii- 


BREAKERS    AHEAD  241 

"  Hoo  king  will  it  be  till  the  laddie's  throurrh  ?  " 
"He  jjets  his  dei^rec  the  next  graduatiiiL,^  class," 
volunteeretl  Madeline,  her  taee  sh.)\vin<;  the  keenness 
of  her  interest.  "  It's  not  mj  very,  very  long,"  she 
added  wistfully,  looking  as  unconcerned  as  possible. 
Then  the  old  man  began  in  the  quietest  and  most 
natural  way  to  tell  David  and  Madeline  all  about  his 
circumstances,  the  simple  story  touched  with  the 
pathos  of  an  utterly  unselfish  heart.     k"or  his  chief 

concern   was    evidentl)-   not    for   himself  at  all he 

would  have  enough  with  strict  economy  to  keep  a  roof 
still  above  his  head — but  his  grief  for  I  larvey's  inter- 
rupted career  was  sincere  and  deep.  He  recognized 
fully,  and  admitted  frankly,  that  it  would  take  what 
little  was  left  him  to  supply  the  humblest  necessities 
of  his  remaining  years.  Jkt  this  seemed  to  give 
him  little  or  no  disquietude ;  his  thoughts  were  di- 
vided between  Harvey  and  his  mother,  and  he  seemed 
troubled  as  to  how  the  latter  should  be  apprised  of 
the  cloud  that  had  brought  this  additional  darkness 
to  her  life. 

"  She'll  no'  learn  it  frac  the  lips  o'  gossip,  if  I  can 
help  it,"  he  said  resolutely  at  last,  his  staff  comhig 
down  with  emphasis  on  the  floor. 

"  Go  easy  on  that  Turkey  rug,  Mr.  Nickle,"  David 
interrupted  with  valorous  merriment ;  "  it  belongs  to 
ni)'  creditors  now,  you  know." 

Geordic  permitted  himself  to  abandon  his  line  of 
thought  long  enough  to  say:  "Ye  dinna  mean  to 
tell  me,  David,  that  ye'li  hae  to  part  wi'  a'  yir  bonnic 
bit  things  aboot  the  hoose  ?  " 


^rm 


^SSTTlvfM 


24: 


■THE    IVEB    OF    -TIME 


i 

i 

1 

t 

'ri 

!| 

^1 

■ 
i 

1 

i 


David   never  flinched  a.s  he  looked  .tnu^^lu  into 
the  sober  eyes. 

"  All  that's  of  any  value,"  lie  answered  resolutely  • 
"no  stoka   plumage  for  me-lVe  no  desire  for  ,t' 
thank    God,"    he    added    cheerily.     ..  I    don't    want' 
iiothui   but  a  ic^^■  httle  necessanes-an'  a  couple  o' 
luxuries,  such  as  this  here."  drawing  Madeline  u  ilhin 
his  arm  as  he  spoke;  "  ifs  great  1     w  the  law  can't 
get   at   a   fellow's   real   treasures.     Just  what   I  was 
sayan     to   you    a    few   minutes   ago,   Madelinc-the 
thmgs  that  counts  the  most  is  the  things  that's  left,  no 
matter  how  poor  a  fellow  gets." 

Geordie's    eyes   were  shining  with  delight ;    such 
philosophy  as  this  touched  the  inmost  heart  of  him 
"  \  e're  richt.  David,  ye're  richt,"  he  cried  fervently 
"Man,  but   It's  bonnie  to  see  ye  takin'  the  chastenin' 
o    th   Almichty  like  ye  dae.     I  was  sair  feart  for  yc 
uhen   I   found   oot  what  was  gaein'  to  happen.     But 
ye  ve  got  the  richt  o't.  David,  yc've  got  the  richt  o't  " 
the   old  man  went  on  earnestly ;  •<  it's  a  sair  loss,  nae 
doot-but  it  canna  rob  ye  o'  what  ye  love  the  most. 
An   I  11  tell  ye  anither  thing,  David,"  he  pursued,  his 
voice  the  prophet  voice,  "  it  canna  rob  ve  o'  the  prov- 
.cence   o'  God-it   canna  change  tlie  purpose  o'  His 
^v'll   for  ye,"   and   Geordie's   outstretched   hand    not 
otten    or    lightly   so   extended,   took   David's   in  ,ts 
->"  n.     ..  But   aboot    Harvey's  mither,"  he  suddenly 
resumed,  recalling   the  thread  that  had  been  broken 
••shell  no'    hear   what's    happened   frae  the   lips   o' 
gossip.     Ill  tell  her  mysel',"  he  affirmed,  the  resolution 
forming  swiftly ;  <•  an'  I'll  dae  it  when  I'm  gaein'  hame 


BREAKERS    AHEAD  24) 

frae  here,"  proceeding  forthwith  to  button  up  his  cuat 
preparatory  to  departure. 

"  I'll  go  with  you."  David  said  quietly.  "  There's 
no  reason  why  I  shouldn't.  I've  a  lot  to  regret,  but 
nothin-  to  be  ashamed  of— notlun'  to  be  ashamed  of, 
as  I  said  afore.  Where's  yuur  mother,  Madeline  .?—' 
I  want  to  see  her  afore  I  go." 

"  She's  up-stairs,"  Madeiineanswered  in  rather  a  sub- 
dued tone.  "  I  think  she's  looking  over  some  thin-s." 
David  sighed  as  he  rose  and  turned  towards "uie 
stair.  Reaching  the  room  above,  he  found  his  wife 
gazing  upon  the  rich  contents  of  several  receptacles 
wiiose  treasures  were  outturned  upon  the  floor.  He 
sat  down  beside  her  on  the  bed,  making  rather  a 
plaintive  attempt  t.^  comfort  the  heart  whose  sorrow 
he  knew  was  different  from  his  own. 

"  I'm  going  to  keep  everything  of  Aladehne  s  I  can," 
she  said,  alter  some  preliminary  conversation.  Poor 
child,  she  was  looking  forward  so  to  her  coming-out 
party-hut  1  guess  that's  all  a  thing  of  the  past  now  " 
she  sighed.  "  And  everybody  said  you  were  going 
to  be  elected  the  town's  first  mayor,  too.  I  was 
counting  so  much  on  that-but  of  course  they  won't 
do  It  now.  But  do  you  know,  David,  there's  one  bit 
of  consolation  left  to  us-and  that's  about  Madeline 
I  think,  I  think,  David,  she'll  be  provided  for  all 
right,  bctore  very  long,"  smiling  significantly  as  she 
made  the  i)iediction. 

"  How?"  David  asked,  quite  dumfoundered,  vet 
not  without  a  kind  of  chill  sensation  in  the  re-ion  of 
his  heart.  ° 


TT  ;-!*«S-" 


s 


if  i 


244 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


"  Oh,  the  old  way,"  responded  his  wife;  "  the  old, 
old  way,  Uavid.  I've  seen  signs  of  it,  1  think — at 
least  I've  seen  signs  that  some  one  else  wouldn't  mind 
taking  care  of  her,  some  one  that  would  be  able  to  give 
her  quite  as  much  as  we  ever  did,"  she  concluded,  a 
note  of  decided  optimism  in  the  voice. 

David  sat  up  straight  and  gasped.  "  Surely."  he 
began  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  surely  you  ain't  talkin' 
about — about  matrimony,  are  you,  mother?  " 

Madeline's  mother  smiled  assentingly.  "  That's 
the  old,  old  way,  David— I  guess  that's  what  it'll  end 
in,  if  things  go  on  all  right.  Don't  look  so  stormy, 
David — I  should  think  you'd  be  glad." 

♦'  Glad ! "  cried  David,  his  voic<>  rising  like  a  wind. 
"  Good  Lord,  glad— glad,  if  a  fellow's  goin'  to  lose 
everythin',  an'  then  be  left  alone,"  he  half  wailed  ; 
"  you  expect  a  fellow  to  be  glad  if  he  gets  news  that 
he  might  have  to  part  with  the  dearest  thing  he's 
got?  "  he  went  on  boisterously.  "  But  I'm  makin'  a 
goat  o'  myself,"  chastening  his  tone  as  he  continued  ; 
"  there  ain't  no  such  thing  goin  to  happen.  Who 
in  thunder  do  you  imagine  wants  our  Madeline  i* — 
I'd  like  to  see  the  cuss  that'd " 

"  But,  David,"  his  wife  interrupted  rather  eagerly, 
"  wait  till  I  tell  you  who  it  is — or  perhaps  you  know 
— it's  Cecil ;  and  I'm  quite  sure  he'd  be  ever  s  >  at- 
tentive, if  Madeline  would  only  permit  it.  And  I  don't 
suppose  any  young  gentleman  of  01  acquaintance 
has  the  prospects  Cecil  has." 

David's  face  wore  a  strange  expression  ;  half  of 
pity  it  seemed  to  be  and  half  of  fiery  wrath.     "  That's 


i 


BREAKERS   AHEAD 


24^ 


so,  mother,"  he  said  in  quite  a  changed  voice  ;  "  if 
all  reports  is  true  there  ain't  many  with  prospects 
hke  his — he'll  get  what's  comin'  to  lum,  I  reckon. 
But  there's  one  thing  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you,  mother," 
and  tlie  woman  started  at  the  changed  tone  of  the 
words,  so  signiticant  in  its  sternness,"  an'  I'll  jest  tell 
it  to  you  now — an'  it's  this.  Mebbe  we'll  have  to 
beg  our  bread  afore  we're  through — but  Cecil  ain't 
never  goin'  to  have  our  Madeline — not  if  me  an'  God 
can  help  it,"  whereat  he  turned  and  went  almost 
noiselessly  from  the  room,  his  white  lips  locked  in 
silence.  And  Madeline  wondered  why  his  eyes 
rested  so  j'earningly  on  her  when  he  returned,  filled 
with  such  hungering  tenderness  as  though  he  were 
to  see  her  never  more. 


B.-.-UiL^-Li 


! 

5 

I 


H 


In. 


XXIII 
INGENUITY   OF   L(   I'i 

NEITHER  Geordie  nor  Dav  ; 
as  they  went  down  the  n  •  ,.  a.,  ^j 

slowly  along  the  avenue  that  led  i.    , 
gate  to  the  house.     But  just  as  they  oj  ,ncd  uj.    -r^c 
David  turned  and  took  a  long  wistful  survey  oftlic 
scene  behind. 

"  Ifll  be  quite  a  twist  to  leave  it  all,'  he  said  try- 
ing to  smile.  "  I've  got  so  kind  o'  used  to  it-thcrc's 
a  terrible  pile  o"  difference  between  /;,///  poor  an' 
gcttui  poor,"  he  added  reflectively. 

"  But  ye'd  hae  to  gang  awa  an'  leave  it.  suner  or 
later, '  Geordie  suggested  ;  '•  it  comes  to  us  a'—aii'  it's 
only  a  wee  bit  earlier  at  the  maist." 

"  That's  dead  true,"  assented  David ;  "  sometimes 

I  think  th'  Almighty  sends  things  hke  this  to  - -t  us 

broke  in  for  the  other_a  kind  of  rehearsal  foreter- 

nity,"  he         .luded,  quite  solemnly  for  him.     "  Look 

there.  Mr.  N.ckle,"  he  suddenly  digressed,  pointing 

toward,  the   house,  ••  d'ye  see  that    upper  left-hand 

window,  with   the  light  shinin'  on  it.  an'  the  curtain 

blowin'  out?-well,  that's  where  Madeline  uas  born. 

Its    kind    o'   hard."  he  said,  so  softly  that   Ccordie 

scarcely  heard. 

"  But  ye  hae  the  lassie  wi'  ye  yet— the  licht's  aye 

246 


IMG  EN  LIT  Y   of   LOl^E 


247 


shinin'  frae  her  bonmc  lacc,"  Gcordic  replied  cnnsol- 
in-ly. 

"  Poor  child,  she's  had  to  scrape  up  most  o'  the 
sunshine  for  our  home  herself  thi,^  last  while,"  rc- 
spondi_d  David,  "  but  it  am't  '^oni'  to  \v:  that  nay- 
after  this — when  tlungs  is  dark,  that'<  the  time 
for  faces  to  be  uright,  ain't  it' — even  if  a  felKjw  dues 
lose  all  lie's  got.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Nickle,"  he 
went  on  very  earnestly,  "  I've  a  kmd  of  a  teelin'  a 
man  should  be  ashamed  oi  himself,  if  all  his  money's 
done  for  him  \-  to  make  him  miserable  when  it's  gone. 
I  mean  this,"  •  urning  and  -.miling  curiously  towards 
Geordie,  "  if  a  fellow's  had  lots  u'  money,  an'  all  the 
elegant  tilings  it  gets  him,  it  ought  to  kind  o'  fit  him 
for  doiii'  ^vithout  it.  1  don't  believe  you  catch  m\- 
meanin'— but  money,  an'  advantages,  ought  to  do 
that  n--uch  lor  the  man  tliat's  had  'em,  to  learn  him 
how  to  do  without  'em  if  he  has  to — it  ou"ht  to  di^ 
well  in  him  somev  here  tha*-  won't  dry  up  when  his 
money  takes  the  wings  o"  the  mornin'  an'  flies  away. 
as  the  Scriptur'  says." 

"  Von's  gr  in'  doctrine,  David,"  Geordie  assented 
eager!  ,  "  foibye,  diere's  anithcr  thing  it  ought  to 
dae  for  a  ma.i — it  should  let  him  ken  hoo  easy  thae 
mail -made  streams  dry  up,  an'  what  sair  things  they 
are  to  minister  til'  the  soul.  An'  they  should  make 
hiiii  seek  the  livin'  water,  ,0  he'll  thirst  nae  niair  for- 
ever. I  seem  to  ken  t'  at  better  mysel'  than  I've  ever 
done  afore." 

"  Mebbc  that's  part  o'  the  plan,"  David  made  reply  ; 
*'  'cause  how  a  follow  takes   a   thing  like  this  here 


248 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


•1  i 
■i  f 
Mi 


■  \ 

■T 


.-I 


i 


that's  liappciicd  inc,  depends   most  altogether  on  jest 
one  thing— an'  I'll   tell  you   what  it  is—whether  he 
takes  it  good  or  bad  depends  on  whether  he  believes 
there's  any  plan  in  the  business  at  all.     I  mean  some 
One  else's  plan,  of  course.     There's  a  terrible  heap  o' 
comfort  in  jest  believin'  there's  a  plan.     When  tlnngs 
was  all  fine  sailin'  with  me,  I  always  held  to  the  plan 
Idea— always  kep'   pratin'  about  the  web  a   higher 
hand  was  weavin'  for  us  all-an'  I  ain't  agoin'  to  go 
back  on  it  now."  he  added  with  unwonted  vehemence. 
"  No,  sir,  I  never  believed  more  in  God's  weavin'  than 
1  do  this    minute.     'Tain't  jest  the  way  I'd  like  it 
wove— but   then  we  don't  sec  only  the  one  side,"  he 
added   resignedly.     "D'ye   know,    Mr.  Nickle,  we're 
terrible  queer  critters,  ain't  we.?     It  really  is  one  of 
the  comicalest  things  about  us,  that  we  don't  believe 
tir  Almighty's  plan  for  us  is  as  good  as  our  own  plan 
for  ourselves.     Funny  too,  ain't  it.  now  ?  "  he  pursued, 
•'  an'   the   amusin'  part  o'  the  whole  business  is  this,' 
how  the  folks   that's   most   religious   often  kicks  the 
hardest   when  they  ain't  allowed  to  do  their   share  o' 
tiic  weavin',"  he  concluded,  looking  earnestly  n:tohis 
Iriend's  f.ice. 

Geordie's  reply  found  expression  more  by  his 
eyes  than  by  word  of  mouth.  Ikit  both  were  in- 
terrupted by  their  journey's  end.  for  by  this  time 
they  had  arrived  at  the  little  store.  Entering  and 
cnquinng  for  Mrs.  Simmons,  the)-  were  conducted 
by  Jessie  into  the  unpretentious  sitting-room  where 
Harvey's  mother  was  seat(-d  in  the  solitary  arm- 
chair that  adorned  the  room,  her  hands   busy  with 


'MWJiE: -.^ifc-  ^ 


INGENUITY   of   LOl^E 


249 


the  kuitting  that  gave  employment  to  the  passing 
hours. 

Grave  and  kindly  were  the  salutations  of  her 
visitors,  equally  sincere  and  dignified  the  greetings  in 
return.  Alter  some  irrelevant  conversation,  David 
introduced  the  purpose  of  their  visit  with  the  tact  that 
never  fails  a  kindly  heart,  bidding  hi'  iriend  tell  the 
rest;  and  the  half-knitted  stocking  fell  idle  on  her 
lap  as  the  silent  listener  composed  herself  bravel)-  to 
hear  the  tidings  that  something  assured  her  would  be 
far  from  wclc(jme. 

Once  or  twice  she  checked  a  rising  sigh,  and  once 
or  twice  she  nerv(jusly  resumed  the  knittijig  that  had 
been  given  over;  but  no  other  sign  bcspol  •  the  sor- 
row and  disa{)pointment  that  possessed  hn.  If  any 
wave  of  pain  passed  over  the  gentle  face,  it  found  no 
outlet  in   the  sightless  eyes.     Gcordie  kept  nothing 

back  ;  the  whole  story  of  their  present  situation 

and  of  their  consequent  heli)Ie,>sness  to  further  aid 
her  scholar  son — was  faithfully  rehearsed.  And  the 
very  tone  of  his  voice  bore  witness  to  the  sincerity  of 
his  statement  that  the  whole  calamity  had  no  m.ire 
painful  feature  than  the  one  it  was  their  mission  now 
to  tell. 

"  I'm  content,"  she  said  quietly  when  Mr.  Xickle 
had  concluded.  -  I'll  not  deny  that  the  hope  of— of 
what's  evidently  not  to  be— has  made  the  days  bright 
for  nie  ever  since  Harvey  went  away, '  she  went  on, 
as  if  her  life  had  never  known  darkness ;  "  but  he's 
had  a  good  start,  and  he  can  never  lose  what  he's  got 
already— and  maybe  the  way'll  be  opened  nyt  yet; 


2S0 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


M  H 


H 


t.:ii 


r^ 


I 


i' 


iiii 


!i: 


it's  never  been  quite  closed  on  us,"  she  added  ix^cr- 
ently,  '•  though  it  often  looked  dark  enough.  The 
promise  to  the  poor  and  the  needy  never  seems 
to  fail.  And  I'm  sure  Harvey'll  find  something  to 
do— and  oh,"  she  broke  in  more  eagerly  than  before, 
"  I  know  the  very  first  thing  he'd  want  me  to  do  is  to' 
thank  j-ou  both  for  your  great  kindness,  your  wonder- 
ful kindness  to  us  all,"  she  concluded,  both  hands 
going  out  in  the  darkness  to  hold  for  a  moment  the 
hands  of  her  benefactors. 

The  conversation  was  not  much  longer  continued, 
both  Geordie  and  David  retreating  before  the  bra\e 
and  trustful  resignation  as  they  never  would  have 
done  before  lamentation  or  repining.  And  aftci 
they  had  gone  Jessie  and  her  mother  sat  long  to- 
gether in  earnest  consultation;  for  the  one  was  as 
resolved  as  the  other  that  something  must  'ue  done 
to  avert  the  impending  disaster. 

"Just  to  think,  mother,  he'd  be  a  B.  A.  if  he  could 
only  finish  with  his  ckiss,"  said  Jessie;  "  and  then,  then 
he  could  be  nearly  anything,  he  Iiked,after  that.  If  only 
business  were  a  little  better  in  the  shop, '  she  sighed. 
"But  it's  losing,  Jessie,"  the  mother  replied,  forcing 
the  candid  declaration.  "  I  can  tell  that  myself— 
often  I  count  how  man)-  times  the  bell  above  the 
door  rings  in  a  day  ;  and  it's  growing  less,  I've  noticed 
that  for  a  year  now.  It's  all  because  Glenallen's 
growing  so  fast,  too—that's  the  worst  of  it ;  what 
helps  others    cems  to  hurt  us." 

Jessie  understood,  the  anomaly  having  been  often 
discussed  before;  it  had  been  discussed,' too,  in  the 


m'wim'^^imim^^-  '^^^^ 


INGENUITY  of   LO^E  251 

more  pretentious  shops,  though  in  a  far  different  frame 
of  mind.  "  We've  got  along  so  well  this  far— we've 
got  almost  used  to  doing  without  things,"  she  said 
with  a  plaintive  smile,  "  and  it  seems  such  a  pity  to 
have  to  stop  when  the  goal's  m  sight." 

"If  I  were  only  stronger,"  mused  the  mother; 
"  but  I'm  not,"  she  added  quietly,  the  pale  face  turn- 
ing towards  Jessie's—-  your  mother's   not   gaining 

any  ;  you  can  sec  that,  can't  you,  dear  ?  " 

Jessie's  protest  was  swift  and  passionate.     "  You 

mustn't    talk    that    way,"    she    cried    appealingly; 

"  you've  spoken  like  that  once  or  twice— and  I  won't 

hear   of   it,"    the   voice    quivering   in    its    intensity. 

"  You're  going  to  get  well— I'm  almost  sure  you  will. 

And  there's  nothing  more  I'd  let  you  do,"  her  eyes 

glowing  with  the  ardour  of  her  purpose,  "  if  you  were 

as  well  and  strong  -s  ever  in  your  life." 

.Mrs.  Simmons  smiled,  but  the  smile  was  full  of 

sadness. 

"  Have  it  as  you  will,  my  child,"  she  said,  "  but 
there's  no  use  shutting  our  eyes  to  the  truth— it's  for 
your  own  sake  I  spoke  of  it,  Jessie.  When  you 
write  to  Harvey,  do  you  tell  him  I'm  gaining,  dear  ?  " 
a  .smile  on  the  patient  face. 

Jessie  was  silent  a  moment.  "Don't,  mother, 
don't,"  she  pleaded.  "Let's  talk  about  what  we'll 
do  for  Harvey.  Oh.  m<ithcr,"  the  arms  going  about 
the  fr;-  ile  form  in  a  passion  of  devotion,  "  it  seems 
as  if  your  troubles  would  never  end ;  it's  been  one 
long  round  of  care  and  struggle  and  pain  for  you 
over  since  I  can  remember.     And  this  last  seems  the 


!  I 
i  I 
!    i 


'•I 


■      I 


t- 


2y. 


THE    WEB    OF    'TIME 


nn 

I'v 

as  ; 


worst,  for  I  know  how  you've  lived  for  I  f arvcy.  And 
it  shan't  all  be  for  nothin^f ;  we'll  ^et  through  with  it 
somehow — I  know  we  will." 

'  Vou  shouldn't  pity  me  so,  my  daughter,"  and  the 
M-'s  voice  was  as  cahu  as  the  untroubled  face. 
.1  y  don't  think  you  know  how  much  happiness 
d  ;  I  often  feel  there's  nothing  so  close  to  joy 
■o\\.  And  you  and  Ilarve)-  have  been  so  good 
— and  I'm  so  proud  of  him.  The  ways  always  been 
opened  up  for  us  ;  and  God  has  st;  engthened  me,  and 
comforted  me,  beyond  what  I  ever  thougiit  was  possi- 
ble. And  besides,  dear,"  the  voice  lov.  and  thrilling 
with  the  words  that  were  to  come,  "  besides,  Jessie, 
I've  had  a  wonderful  feeling  lately  that  it's  getting 
near  the  light — it's  like  a  long  tunnel,  but  I've  caught 
glimpses  of  beauty  sometimes  that  tell  me  the  long 
darkness  is  nearly  over.  Oh,  my  darling,"  she  went 
on  in  the  same  thrilling  voice,  holding  her  close  in  a 
kind  of  rapture,  "  I  never  was  so  sure  before — not 
even  when  I  could  see  all  around — ne\er  so  sure — 
that  it's  all  light  after  all,  and  my  very  darkness  has 
been  the  light  of  God.  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
cr\-  like  this,"  she  sobbed,  for  the  tears  were  now 
falling  fast,  "  for  I'm  really  happy — even  with  all  tins 
new  trouble ;  but  for  days  and  days  lately  I've  kept 
saying  to  mj-self:  'They  need  no  candle,  neither 
light  of  the  sun  ' — and  I  can't  think  of  it  without 
crying,  because  I  know  it's  true." 

Very  skillfully  did  Jessie  endeavour  to  turn  the  con- 
versation into  other  channels;  her  own  sinking  heart 
told  her  too  well  that  her  inmost  thought  was  not  far 


as^ 


■PUP 


INGEXU/TY   of   LOyE 


2S3 


different  from  her  mother's.  For  the  dear  face  was 
daily  growing  more  pale  and  thin,  and  the  springs  of 
vitahty  seemed  to  be  sloul>  ebbing.  Ikit  un  this  she 
would  not  permit  her  mind  to  dwell. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  could  get  some  b'i-ht  girl  to 
mind  the  shop,  mother;  seme  j-oung  girl, you  know, 
that  wouldn't  cost  very  nmch  ?  Because  I've  just 
been  thinking — I've  got  a  kind  of  a  [Aau — I've  been 
wondering  if  i  couldn't  make  enougli  to  help  I  iarvey 
through.  You  know,  mother,  I  can  sew  pretty  \^•ell 
—  Miss  Adair  told  me  only  )estercl.iy  1  managed 
(I'lite  as  well  as  UiC  girls  with  a  regulai  training,  and 
she  just  as  much  as  offered  me  work.  And  I'll  see 
her  about  it  this  very  day ;  we  could  get  s(jme  one  to 
mind  the  shop  for  a  great  deal  Ic^s  ih.m  I  could 
make — and  I  Iarvey  could  have  the  re>t.  \'ou  W(  >uldn't 
object,  would  you,  mother?  I  wouldn't  go  out  to  >ew  ; 
some  of  the  girls  take  the  work  home  with  them, 
and  so  could  I.  Or,  if  I  was  doing  piece-work,  I 
might  be  able  to  mind  the  store  myself  at  the  same 
time— there  seems  to  be  so  little  to  do  now."  she 
added,  looking  a  little  ruefully  towards  the  silent 
shop. 

The  expression  of  pain  deepened  on  the  mother's 
face  as  she  listened.  Yet  she  did  not  demur,  al- 
though the  inner  vision  brought  the  tired  features  of 
the  unselfish  girl  hcknc  her.  "  It  seems  hard,"  she 
said  at  length  ;  "  I  was  always  hoping  you'd  soon 
have  it  a  little  easier — but  this  will  only  make  it 
harder  for  you." 

"  But   not  for  long,"  Jessie  interrupted  cheerily ; 


^mtm 


254 


THE    IVEB   OF    TIME 


"just  till  Harvey's  through— and  then  he'll  be  able 
to  make  lots  of  money.  And  maybe  you  and  I'll  be 
able  to  go  away  somewhere  for  a  little  rest,"  she 
added  hopefully,  her  eyes  resting  long  on  the  pallid 
face. 

"  Harvey  must  never  know,"  the  mother  suddenly 
affirmed ;  "  we'll  have  to  keep  it  from  him,  whatever 
happens,  for  I  know  he  wouldn't  consent  to  it  for  a 
moment.  Where  are  you  going,  Jessie?"  for  she 
knew,  her  sense  of  every  movement  quickened  by 
long  exercise,  that  the  girl  was  making  preparations 
to  go  out. 

"  I'm  going  to  see  Miss  Adair,  mother.  I  won't 
be  long — but  now  that  my  mind's  set  on  it,  I  can't 
rest  till  I  find  out.  If  I  can  only  get  that  arranged, 
it'll  make  it  so  much  brighter  for  us  all." 

The  mother  sat  alone  with  many  conflicting 
thoughts,  marvelling  at  all  that  so  enriched  her  life, 
dark  though  it  was,  and  bearing  about  with  it  a  bur- 
den that  no  heart  could  share. 

Jessie's  errand  was  successful,  as  such  errands  are 
prone  to  be;  and  only  those  who  understand  life's 
hidden  streams  could  have  interpreted  the  r  diance 
on  the  maiden's  face  as  she  returned  to  announce  her 
indenture  unto  toil,  new  gladness  springing  from  new 
sacrifice,  for  such  is  the  mysterious  source  whose 
waters  God  hath  bidden  to  be  blessed. 

David  was  absorbed  in  a  very  sober  study  as  he 
walked  slowly  homeward.  Not  that  he  shrank  from 
the  personal  sacrifice  that  his  present  circumstances 


wm 


^mnfmmfmmm^mmm. 


nsci    atr 


INGENUITY   of   LOVE 


25s 


were  about  to  demand,  or  that  any  sense  of  dishonour 
clouded  his  thou^^^ht  ot  the  business  career  that  seemed 
about  to  close — from  this  he  was  absolutely  free. 
Hut  he  was  feclin-;,  and  for  the  first  time,  how  keen 
the  sting  of  defeat  can  be  to  a  man  whose  long  and 
valiant  struggle  against  relentless  odds  has  at  last 
proved  unavailing. 

Still  reflecting  un  this  and  many  other  things,  he 
suddenly  heard  hini>elf  accosted  by  a  familiar  voice  ; 
turning  round,  he  saw  Mr.  Craig  hurrying  towards 
him. 

"Going  home,  liorland?"  said  the  former  as  he 
came  up  with  him  ;  "  I'll  just  walk  along  with  you  if 
you  are — I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

David's  mind  lost  no  time  in  its  calculation  as  to 
what  the  subject  of  this  conversation  would  hkcly 
be  ;  during  all  his  period  of  struggle,  well  known  and 
widely  discussed  as  it  had  been,  Mr.  Craig  had  never 
approached  him  before.  David  felt  an  unconscious 
stiffening  of  the  lip,  he  scarce  knew  why. 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  Borland,  for  one  thing," 
Mr.  Craig  began  as  they  walked  along,  "  how  much 
I  feel  for  you  in  the  hard  luck  you're  having." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,"  said  David  promptly. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I'm  just  able  to  sympathize  as 
well  as  lots  of  men  could,"  Mr.  Craig  observed;  "  un- 
broken success  doesn't  fit  one  for  that  sort  of  thine." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  David,  volumes  in  the  tone. 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  not  by  any  means  oblivious 
to  the  intonation,  "  I  suppose  it  does  sound  kind  of 
egotistical— but  1   guess  it's  true  just  the  same.     I 


"WIBPW^^ 


If 


fi: 


L    I 


n 


2S6 


THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


suppose    I'm    uhat    might    be    called    a    successful 


man. 


"  I  reckon  you  might  be  .vr/Av/ that,  all  right,"  said 
David,  getting  out  his  knife  and  glancing  critically  at  a 
willow  just  ahead.  The  .'.pirit  of  whittling  invariabl)- 
arose  within  him  when  his  emotions  w  ere  aroused. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  -  Mr.  Craig  enquired,  a 
httlc  ardently.  He  had  noticed  Davids  emphasis  on 
one  particular  word. 

"  I  don't  mean  nothin',"  responded  David,  making 
a  willow  branch  his  own. 

"  You  seem  to  doubt  a  little  whether  I've  reall>- 
boen  successful  or  not?"  ventured  the  other,  look- 
ing interrogatively  at  his  companion. 

"  Depends."  said  David  laconically;  "you've  been 
terrible  successful  outside." 

"  I  don't  just  follow  you,"  Mr.  Craig  declared  with 
deliberate  calmness.  "I  don't  suppose  we  judge 
people  by  the  inside  of  them— at  least  I  don't." 

"  I  do,"  answered  David  nonchalantly.  '<  A  fellow 
can't  help  it— look  at  this  here  gad ;  it  looked  ele- 
gant from  the  outside,"  holding  it  up  to  show  the 
wound  his  knife  had  made. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  it?"  Mr.  Craig  rejoined, 
pretending  to  look  closely. 
"  It's  rotten,"  =:.id  David. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  Mr.  Craig  de- 
manded rather  more  sharply. 

"  I  don't  mean  nothin'."  respond-  1  David. 
"  Then  it  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  the  question 
of  success  ?  " 


*sfaie.  ie.-:?!^"ia8BBm?'"^'^'Wfi'.rT^ac 


INGENUIJ  Y   of   LOy  E 


^=>7 


'•  That's  an  autul  bi-  question,"  David  answered 
adroitl}-,  "  an'  folks'll  get  a  terrible  jolt  in  their 
opinions  about  it  some  da)-,  I  reckon — like  the  ricli 
fool  got ;  an'  he  thought  he  was  some  pun'kins,  too. 
Nobody  can't  tell  jest  who's  a  success,"  he  went  on, 
peeling  the  willow  as  he  spoke.  "  I  reckon  folks 
calls  nie  the  holiest  failure  in  these  parts — but  Im  a 
terrible  success  some  ways,"  he  went  on  calmly. 

"  What  ways  ? "  Mr.  Craig  enquired  rather  too 
quickly  for  courtesy. 

"  Oh,  nothin'  much— only  under  the  bark — if  it's 
anywheres,"  David  jerked  out,  still  vigorously  em- 
ployed cMi  the  willow.  "  But  there  ain't  no  good  of 
pursuin'  them  kind  of  thoughts,"  he  suddenly  di- 
gressed, making  a  final  slash  at  the  now  denuded 
branch  ;  "  they're  too  high-class  for  a  fellow  that 
never  went  to  school  after  he  left  it— let's  talk  about 
somethin'  worldly.  Tuey  say  you're  goin'  to  be 
Glenalkn's  first  mayor;  goin"  to  open  the  ball — ain't 
that  so  ?  " 

Abating  his  pace,  Mr.  Craig  drew  closer  to  David, 
a  pleased  expression  displacing  the  rather  decided 
frown  that  liad  been  gathering. 

"  To  tell  tiie  truth,  now  Ui:it  you've  mentioned  it," 
he  began  confidentially,  "  that's  the  very  thing  I 
wantcii  to  talk  about.  Of  course,  there's  no  use  in 
•ny  pretending  I  don't  want  the  office,  for  I  do— tlie 
"lole  thing  is  in  being  the /nV  mayor,  you  see,  after 
V .  enallen's  incorporated.  Kind  of  an  historical  event. 
you  liiKlerstand— and,  and  there  seems  to  be  a  little 
misunderstanding,"  he  went  on  a  trifle  hesitatingly, 


J 


sn 


:!=>S 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


m 


m 


V' 


i  if 


imr 

!: 

HHI 

i# 

: 

i'il 

, 

i 

"  between  you  and  me.  I  find  there's  a  tendency  to 
— to  elect  you — that  is,  in  some  quarters,"  he  ex- 
plained, "  and  I  thought  we  niij^ht  cume  to  a  kind  of 
an  agreement,  you  understand." 

"  What  kind?"  David  asked  innocently. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  understand.  Of  course,  I  know  you 
wouldn't  care  for  the  office — not  at  present,  at  least. 
I've  felt  perfectly  free  to  say  as  much  whenever  the 
matter  was  mentioned  to  me." 

"  You're  terrible  cheerful  about  resignin'  for  other 
people,"  rejoined  David  with  some  spirit ;  "  some 
folks  is  terrible  handy  at  makin'  free  with  other  folks' 
affairs." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know  what  I  mean — you've  got 
your  hands  full " 

"  They're  not  terrible  full,"  David  corrected  dis- 
mally. 

"  And  besides,  you  see,"  ]\Ir.  Craig  went  bravely 
on,  "  you're  not  British  born — you  were  born  in 
Ohio,  weren't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  David  informed  him ;  "  there's  no 
Buckeye  about  me — I  was  born  in  Abe  Lincoln's 
State.  Peoria's  where  I  dawned — and  he  often  used 
to  stop  at  my  father's  house  when  he  was  attcndin' 
court."  David  was  evidently  ready  to  be  delivered 
of  much  further  information,  but  the  candidate  had 
no  mind  to  hear  it. 

"  Well,  anyhow,"  he  interrupted,  "  I  think  it'd  be 
more  fitting  that  the  first  mayor  should  have  been 
born  under  the  British  flag.  Ikit  you  don't  mean  to 
say  you  think  you'll  stand?"  he  suddenly  enquired, 


INGENUITY   of    LOl^E 


2=.c) 


evidently  determined  to  ascertain  the  facts  without 
further  tv\rley. 

"  Couldn't  jest  say,"  David  replied  with  rather  pro- 
vokin<;  deliberation  ;  "  you  see,  I'll  have  a  good  deal 
o'  time  lyin'  round  loose,  now  that  I'm  j^ivin'  up 
business  for  my  health,"  this  with  a  mournful  grin. 
"  So  mebbe  I'll  be  in  the  hands  o'  my  friends — that 
there  expression's  one  I  made  up  myself,"  he  adiled, 
turning  a  broad  smile  upon  his  friend's  veij,-  sober  face. 

Mr.  Craig,  to  tell  the  exact  truth,  grew  quite  pale 
as  he  heard  the  ominous  words.  For  his  heart  had 
been  sorely  set  on  the  immortality  the  fir.-,t  mayor- 
ship of  Glenallen  would  confer,  and  he  knew  huw 
doubtful  would  be  the  issue  of  a  contest  between 
David  and  himself. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  began  a  little  excitedly, 
"  perhaps  ue  could  make  some  arrangement  that 
would  be — would  be  to  our  mutual  advantage,"  he 
blurted  out  at  last ;  "  perhaps — perhaps  I  could  give 
you  a  little  lift ;  I  could  hardly  expect  you  to  with- 
draw for  nothing.  And  now  that  you're  in  financial 
difficulties,  so  to  speak,  I  thought  perhaps  a  little 
quiet  assistance  mightn't  go  amiss." 

lUit  David  had  come  to  a  dead  standstill,  his  eye? 
flashing  as  they  fastened  themselves  on  the  other's 
face.  "  D'ye  mean  to  say  you're  tryin'  to  bribe 
me?"  he  demanded,  his  voice  husky. 

"  (J)h,  no,  Mr.  Borland — oh,  no,  I  only  meant  we 
might  find  common  ground  if " 

"  Common  grouml !  Common  scoundrelism  I  " 
David   broke   in  vehemently  ;  "  you   must  think  I'm 


4 


2bo 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


m 


ill 


f 


I 


If -it 


llii 
'■A 


U 


devilish  poor,  Mr.  Craig, "  his  voice  rising  with  his 
enu'tion,  *•  an'  it  appears  to  me  a  man  has  to  be  sunk 
miL;hty  low  afore  he  could  propose  what  >ou've 
done.  I've  bore  a  heap,  God  knows — but  no  man 
never  dared  insult  me  like  this  afore ;  if  that's  one  o' 
the  things  you've  got  to  do  if  jou're  pure  iJritish 
stock,  then  1  thank  the  l,ord  I'm  a  mongrel." 

"  Be  calm,  Mr.  Borland,"  implored  his  friend 
suavely,  "  you  don't  understand." 

"  I  understand  all  right,"  shouted  David  ;  "  a  man 
dL«n't  need  much  breedin'  of  any  kind  to  understand 
the  likes  o'  you— you  want  a  man  that's  lost  all  he's 
g<'t,  to  sell  himself  into  the  bargain,"  the  withered 
cheek  burning  hot  as  David  made  his  arraignment. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Borland,  do  be  reasonable— I  mean 
nothing  of  the  sort.  I  only  wanted  to  give  you  a 
helping  hand— of  course,  if  you  can  do  without 
it " 

"  Yes,  thank  God."  and  David's  voice  was  quite 
shaky.  "  I  can  do  without  it  all  right.  I  can  do  with- 
out your  dirty  money— an'  everybody  else's  for  that 
matter— but  I  can't  do  without  a  conscience  that 
ain't  got  no  blot  on  it,  an'  I  can't  do  without  a  clean 
name  like  1113'  father  left  it  to  me."  he  went  hotly 
on,  his  flushed  face  and  swift-swallowing  throat  at- 
testing how  deeply  he  felt  what  he  was  saying. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  liorland."  Mr.  Craig  urged,  reach- 
ing out  a  hand  towards  his  shoulder.  "  come  off  your 
high  horse— preachin*  isn't  your  strong  point,  you 
know." 

"I    ain't   preachin',"    David   retorted    vigorously. 


-'J.(e» 


Hi  IHIllil  N   I   m    III    I    llllllllli  llllllllliilMWIPilHllllll 


INGEyJUITY   of   Loy n 


2b\ 


"  I'm  practisiu' — an'  th.il 's  u  hur.-c  vi  a  uilicrcnt 
colour,"  he  adilcil,  casUng  about  U>  recall  the  amia- 
bility that  had  almost  \aiii..!ic'.]. 

"  There' 1  no  need  lor  .a\y  trouble  between  ■., 
Borland,"  iMr.  Crai,^  be^^an  blandly;  •• 'tuouldn  '  be 
seemly,  considering  all  that's  li.ible  to  h.ippen — it 
things  go  on  as  they're  lil^ely  to, "  he  add^'i  m  ^n- il- 
cant!}-.  "  We'll  need  to  be  on  the  best  <  \  leri-.i  :f 
we're  going  to  be  relations,  you  know." 

"What's  that  you'ie  sayin' ? — relation^,  d:  i  yon 
say?"  David  was  quite  at  a  lobS  to  understap.i.,  tud 
yet  a  dim  tear,  suggested  not  so  long  belore,  parsed 
for  a  HK^mcnt  thrcjugh  his  mind. 

•'  Ves,  relations,"  returned  ?vlr  Craig,  smiling 
amiably;  "  these  young  folks  have  a  way  of  making 
people  relations  without  consulting  them — at  least, 
till  they've  gone  and  settled  it  themselves.  I  guess 
you  understand  all  right." 

A  hot  llush  flowed  over  David's  check.  "  Do  >  ou — 
do  you  mean  my  Madeline  ?  "  he  stammered,  scaring 
like  one  who  did  not  see. 

"  Well,  maybe— but  I  mean  my  Cecil  just  as  much. 
All  this  won't  make  any  difference  to  Cecil." 

"  What  won't?  "  David  groped,  the  \vords  coming 
as  if  unguided,  his  thoughts  gone  on  another  mis- 
sion. 

"  Oh.  these  little  difficulties  oi'  yours— all  this 
financial  tangle,  I  mean  ;  your  failure,  as  they  call  it 
round  town.     That'll  never  budge  Cecil." 

The  men  were  still  standing,  neither  thinking  of 
direction  or  of  progress.     But   David   moved  close 


W^^^S^^^^^^^WT^ 


i  I 


\^ 


^If 


]   ! 

I    I- 


202 


THE    [VEB    OF    TIME 


up  to  the  other,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  shre-.vd  face 
with  relentlesi;  sternnebs. 

"  It  don't  need  to  make  no  difference,"  he  said 
through  set  teeth.  •'  There  ain't  nothin'  to  ^ct  differ- 
ent—if  you  mean  your  son,  Crai^^— or  if  you  mean 
my  daughter,  Craig,"  the  words  prancing  out  '^ke  a 
succession  of  mettled  steeds ;  <•  either  you  or  him's 
the  biggest  fool  God  ever  let  loose.  'Ihcre  ain't  no 
human  i)o\ver.  nor  no  other  kind,  can  jine  them  two 
together.  Perhaps  I'll  have  to  go  beggin'— but  I'll 
take  Madeline  along  with  me  afore  she'll  ever  go 
down  the  pike  with  any  one  like  your  Cecil,  a:,  you 
call  him."     Dav^d  paused  for  breath. 

"  She'd  be  mighty  lucky  if  she  got  him,"  Cecil's 
father  retorted  haughtily.  ••  C)ne  would  think  you 
were  the  richest  man  in  the  county  to  hear  \-ou 
talk."  ^ 

David's  face  was   closer  than  ever.     "  Craig,"  he 
said,  hij   voice   low  and  taut,  ••  there's  mebbe  some 
that's  good  enough  for  ^Jadeline— I  ain't  a-sayin'— 
but  th'  Almighty  never  made  no   man  yet  that  my 
daughter'd   be   lucky   if  .he    got.     An'  I    know  I'm 
P')or;  an'  I  know  I've  got  to  take  to  the  tali  timbers 
out  o"  there—where  she  was  born,"  the  words  coming 
with  a  little  gulp  as  he  pointed  in  the  direction  of  his 
h»nie,  "but  I'm  a  richer  man,  Craig,  than  you  ever 
knew  how  to  be.     An' you   can   go   back    to    your 
big  house,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  hunt  a  little  one  for  us— 
but    I  wouldn't  trade  you  if  everv  Debbie  on  >-.nir 
carnage  drive    was    gold.     An'   I'm    happier'n    vou 
ever  knew  h..\v  to   be.     An'     our  Cecil  can'i   never 


t/r- 


"!ft^I?^ 


INGENUITY   of   LO^E 


20; 


have  our  M;idclinc.  An'  when  it  comc.^  to  bud^Mii', 
like  you  ua^  talkin'  about.  I  r-jckou  I  can  do  my 
share  of  not  bud<;in',  Crai^^— an'  you  can  put  tl-.at  in 
your  pipe  an'  smoke  it." 

Uavid  started  to  move  on;  he  was  pantin;::  ju>t  a 
htllc.  JJut  Mr.  Crai^T  stopped  him  ;  arid  the  sneer  m 
his  words  was  qui'e  noticeable  : 

"  I  suppose  you'll  be  s;ivm';  her  to  your  charity 
studjnt— shc'i:  be  head  cierk  in  the  Simmons' .store 
yet.  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

David  was  p.ot  (hfficult  to  detain.     Ik  stared  hard 

for    a    ni'-mcnt    bjlore    speakmi,'.     "  Mebbe    they're 

poor,"  he  -aitl  at  Ient;th,  •'  an'  mebbe  his  blind  mother 

has   to  .kiinp  an' save-- tliat  settles  any  one  for  you 

all  n-ht.     Hut  it  wouldn't  take  me  no  lon<^er  to  tle- 

cide  between  that  there  charity  student  an'  your  son. 

than   it  woul.l  to  decide— to  decide  between  you  an' 

God,"  hv  concluded  hotly,  turning;  and  starting,-  re^j- 

lutel\-  on  his  way.     ••  Now  you  know  my  ideas  ab.)ut 

success,"  he  Hun-  over  his  shoulder  as  he  pressed  on  ; 

"  }ou'rc  a  success,  you  know,  a  terrible  success— I'm 

'1    failure,    thank    heaven."    his    face    set    steadfastlv 

toward,   home,  briqut  with    the    hallowed    li-lit  tha't 

thou-ht  of  his  treasure  there  kept  burnin-;  through 

all  life's  str.rm  and  darkness. 

Mut  .Mr.  c:rai-  f>red  the  last  ^hot.  •«  I  wi.sh  y..u 
luck  with  the  comini,'-out  party,"  he  called  after  him 
mockingly ;  ••  |>,.  sure  and  have  it  worthy  of  the 
younn:  l.uly  -and  of  her  father's  f..rtune."  he  added, 
the  tone  indicatin^r  what  satisfaction  the  thrust 
ahurdcd  him. 


204 


•THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


II: 

h  V: 


■.n  ■ 


11 


David  answered  never  a  word.  But  the  taunt 
set  him  pondering,  nevertheless ;  once  or  twice  he 
stopped  almost  still,  though  his  pace  was  brisk,  and 
something  in  his  face  reflected  the  purpcjse  forming 
within  him.  When  he  reached  his  home  he  found 
.Madeline  and  her  mother  together;  the>  were  still 
employed  with  the  sou, ore  task  of  selecting  what 
should  be  the  survivors  among  their  domestic  treas- 
ures. 

"How  did  Mrs.  Simmons  take  it?"  Madeline 
asked  almost  impatiently,  as  he  drew  her  down  in 
the  chair  beside  him. 

"She  took  it  hke  as  if  she  believed  in  God," 
David  answei.d  solemnl)- ;  '•  an'  she  took  it  thai  way 
•cause  she  does— that's  more,"  he  added  emphatic- 
iilly.  "  liut  I've  got  somethin'  to  say— somethin" 
important." 

Both  waited  eagerly  to  hear.  ••  leil  me  quick," 
said  Madeline. 

"  Well,  it's  this.  I  don't  want  notliin'  touched 
here— not  till  after  what  I'm  goin'  to  tell  )()u.  We'll 
have  to  waltz  out  o'  here,  of  course,"  he  saiti,  looking 
gravely  around  the  room;  "but  it'll  he  scine  con 
siderable  time  yet— an"  as  long  as  we're  here,  we'll  be 
here,  see?  An'  we're  goin'  to  have  jour  cumin'-out 
party,  Madeline — we're  goin'  to  have  it  the  la^t  night. 
So  it'll  be  a  comin'-out  party,  an'  a  goin'-out  one,  at 
the  same  time— ain't  that  an  elegant  idea  ?  An  it'll 
be  a  dandy,  too— there'll  be  high  ji.iks  till  nobody 
can't  see  anybody  else  for  dust.  An'  we're  goin'  to 
have  things  jest  like  they  are  now— no  use  o'  kickin' 


«*::•*     \i 


^^^S^^^^^S^^ 


^t2f. 


;,  -A.^ 


TfTT 


TTWTmS^. 


/NGENU/T  Y   of   LOl^E 


2bs 


down  your  scaffold  till  )ouic  through  with  it,"  he 
concluded,  chuckiiiii  .Maddinc  under  the  ciiin  in  his 
jubilaticn. 

-Madeline  and  her  mother  ga>pcd  a  little  as  they 
exchanocJ  -lances.  Mrs.  Horland  was  the  first  to 
speak.  "  Oun't  you  think  it'll  throw  a  j^loom  over 
everylhinjT.  David,  ulieii  ever)  body '11  know  what— 
what's  f.;oiiig  to  happen  }  " 

"  If  anyboily  begins  that  kind  o'  throwin',  I'll  throw 
tliem  out  sitlewa>s,"  David  replied  fiercely.  ••  Most 
certainly  it  won't.  l-:verybod)-d  always  be  slingin' 
gloom  round,  if  that'd  do  it— 'cause  nobody  ever 
knows  uhal'.  g(jin'  to  happen  an>-  time.  Leastways, 
nobody  only  One- -an'  lie  ain't  ne\ei  gioomv",  lor 
all  lit  knows.  Anyhow,  nothm' ain't  goin' to  hap- 
pen—'cept  to  the  furniture,"  he  added  scornfully, 
glancing  at  the  doomed  articles  that  .^tood  about. 

"  One  goud  tiling.  '  .Madeline  suggested  radiantly, 
"there'll  be  nothing  to  hide— everybody'll  know 
they're  expected  to  be  jollj-." 

"Sure  thing!"  echoed  David,  utterly  delighted. 
•■  I'm  goiir  to  have  that  on  the  invitations— there 
ain't  goin'  to  be  no  •  Answer  1'.  D.  O."  ..n  the  left- 
hand  corner;  I'm  goin'  to  have  somethin"  else_lm 
g'oin'  to  have  what  that  eve  on  the  tavern  ^hcds 
yelled  through  the  megaphone  :  -It  y,.,,  can't  laugh 
don't  come.'  I  often  told  you  about  him.  didn't  1  ?_ 
well,  that's  the  prescription's  goji,'  to  be  on  the  ad- 
mis.-,ioii  tickets." 

Considerable  further  dialogue  was  terminated  b)-  a 
very  serious  question  from  tlie  prospective  debutante, 


s 


II 


X)b 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


"  V\  on't  it  look  kind  of  strange,  father  ?  "  she  ventured 
rather  timidly,  •'  goinj;  to  all  that  expense— just  at 
this  particular  time  ?  " 

David  put  his  arms  about  her  very  tenderly,  smilint^ 
down  into  the  sober  face.  "  There  ain't  goin'  to  be 
no  champagne,  iMadelme,"  he  said  quietly,  "  nor  no 
American  beauties— there'll  jest  be  one  of  heavcii's 
choicest.  It'll  be  an  awful  simple  party— an'  awful 
sweet.  An'  music  don't  cost  nothin' ;  neither  does 
love,  nor  friends,  nor  welcomes — the  best  things  is 
the  cheapest.  An'  I'll  show  them  all  one  thing,"  he 
went  on  very  gravely,  his  eyes  filling  as  they  were 
bended  on  his  child.  "  one  thing  that  ain't  expensive 
—but  awful  dear,"  the  words  faltering  as  they  left  his 
lips. 


o 


XXIV 
THE  ^/CTORS  SPO/LS 

F  courbc  you  ou-ht  to  -o.      I've  got  a  kind 
of  fcclui-,  though  I  don't  know  wh)-.  that 
the  uiiolc  party  will  be  spoiled  if  you're 
not  there." 

"  Spoiled  !     S[)oiled  for  whom  ?  " 
"  Oh,  for  somebody— 1  guess  you  know  all  right." 
It  was  Miss  I-arringall  who  was  pressing  her  advice 
so  vigorously ;  Harvey  the  beneficiary.      They  were 
seated  in  the  little  room  in  which  they  had  first  met, 
everything  in   the  same  perfect  order,  the  tire  ..till 
•singing  its  song  of  unconquerable  cluer.  the  antique 
desk  in  the  corner  still  guarding  its  hidden  secrets 
The  domestic  Grey,  the  added  dignity  of  vcars  upon 
lum,  had  conu   to  regard  the  one-time  intruder  with 
almost  the  same  affection   that   he   lavished  on  his 
mi.tress  in  his  own  devoted,  purring  way.     He  was 
slumbering   now   on    Harvey's   knee,  and.  could   he 
liave  interpreted  the  significance  of  human  glances 
he    might   have   seen   tlie    fondness   with    which   the 
uoinan's    eyes  were   often   turned   upon   the   manly 
t.ice  hcsuli;  her. 

"  If  I  thought  I\Iiss  Borland  really  wanted  me  to 
come,"  mused  llarvcv. 

2C7 


r 


in 


m 


i 


1 1 

-I 

li 


268 


r/Vf    IVEB    OF    TIME 


"  Maybe  Miss  Borland  doesn't  care  very  muc!i." 
his  friend  retorted  quickly,  ••  but  I'm  sure  MadeiiiK- 
wants  you,"  her  eyebrows  lifted  reproachfully  as  she 
spoke. 

Harvey  smiled  in  return.  "  Of  course,  it  wouk! 
give  me  a  chance  to  see  mother."  he  said  reflectively  ; 
"  and  Jessie  says  she's  very  poorly.  Perhaps  I  really' 
ouc;ht  to  go— Jessie's  quite  anxious  about  her." 
^  "  I  think  both  reasons  are  good  ones,"  Miss 
Farringall  said  after  a  little  silence.  "  Do  you  know . 
Harvey,'"  she  went  on,  a  shade  almost  of  sadnes> 
coming  over  her  face,  "  I  feel  more  and  more  thai 
there's  only  one  thing  in  life  worth  gaining—and  one 
should  never  trifle  with  it.  If  you  lose  that,  you  lose 
everything— no  matter  how  much  else  you  may  have 
of  money,  or  luxury— even  of  friends,"  she  said  de- 
cisively ;  "  even  of  friends— if  you  miss  that  other." 

Harvey,  slightly  at  a  lo.ss,  fumbled  about  for  some- 
thing to  say.  "  You  have  everything  that  mone\- 
can  provide,  Miss  r...rmgall— and  that's  a  good 
deal,"  he  added,  magnifying  the  lonely  asset  as  best 
he  could. 

"Yes.  [)crhaps  I  have— and  maybe  it  is,"  she  saiil 
as  if  to  herself.  Then  neither  spoke  for  a  long  inter- 
val, lint  finally  Miss  larringall  turned  towards 
Harvey  with  a  peculiar  expression,  as  if  .she  had  just 
come  to  a  decision  after  much  inward  debate. 

"  Would  \-ou  like  to  hear  something  I've  never 
told  any  one  else?"  she  .said  impressively— "  not 
even  to  the  rector.  He  has  a  secind  wife,"  she  ex- 
plained, .smiling,  "  and  they're  always  dangerous." 


■The    k-ICTORS   SPOILS  2tx) 

"If  you  wish  to  trust  .nc  uitli  ,t."  uas  Jlarvcy's 
answer.  ^ 

'•  Well,  I  w.ll-and  you'll  tell  ,no  u  hcthcr  I  did 
n«ht  or  not.  It'.s  not  a  lon^^  story,  and  Til  tell  it  as 
d.rectly  a.s  I  can.  If.  about  a  nian-a  {gentleman  " 
-she  corrected.  •■  Xo.  I  never  loved  hun-duesnt  this 
lan^n.aue  sound  strange  frcm  me  r  '  as  she  noticed 
the  surprise  on  Harvey's  face.  <•  ]5ut  .t  uas-,t  was 
Clforent  uuh  him.  He  was  a  m  .ried  n.an.  too. 
And  Ins  wile  was  ve.y  r.ch-rieaer  than  he  was. 
And  she  hated  Inm-ihey  lived  in  ti.c  same  house, 
bnt  that  was  all  ;  a  proud,  .selfish  woman,  so  selfish 
she  was."  ' 

Miss   Farringall   rose  and   moved  to  the  w.ndou. 
ga/.ng    Ion-    on    the    leafy   scene    about    her.      The 
•s.lcncc  was   broken   suddenly  hy  the  butler's  voice 
ins  approach  a.s  noiseless  as  ever 

"  ^^<^^-> ^li^^  Farringall.  the  rector's  here-he's  in 
tlic  hall.     And  he  wants  to  know " 

"Tell   him  he  can't."  Mkss   Fanin^rall    ,aid 
without  turnin-  her  eyes  from  the  window 

"  Ye.s,  mum."  as  the  impassive  countenance  van- 
islicd. 

Harvey  did  not  speak,  di.l  not  cv.n  look  towards 
the  s.ient  fi-rnre  at  the  window.  FIc  knew,  and 
ua.ted.  I  resently  the  woman  turned  a,ui  silently 
resumed  iier  chair. 

*•  It  was  .hffcrent  with  him.  as  I  said."  she  slowh-  be- 
j:an  a<,^a,n-..  not  that  I  ever  encouraged  lu.n  ;  it  t'erri- 
flcu  m.  when  I  (nun.l  it  out.  Well,  one  day  when  we 
wore  alone  together,  he-he  forgot  Inmself."  a  slight 


Mjftly. 


Ills 


ili 


'Zmm 

WK^'  '- 

Uii  ^  i ' 

■i^WM 

181!!  ' 

270 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


tremor  of  the  gentL-  form  and  a  deep  flush  upon  the 
cheek  betokening  the  vividness  of  the  memory. 
"  And  I  fled  from  him — and  I  vowed  we  shoulil 
never  meet  again,"  the  sad  face  lighting  up  with  the 
echo  of  a  far-off" purpose.  "  And  I  kept  the  vow  for 
years,"  she  went  on,  gazing  intu  the  fire— for  there  it 
is  that  the  dead  years,  embalmed  ...  m>stic  forces,  may 
be  seen  by  sorrow-brightened  eyes. 

Harvey  waited  again,  silent  still.  And  once  again 
the  strange  narrative  was  resumed.  "  Hut  I  broke  it 
at  last,"  she  said.  "  He  was  dying — a  slow,  painful 
disea.^e.  And  he  had  everything  money  could  gi\e 
him  ;  he  had  everything  tha^  an)body  wants— except 
that  one  thing.  His  wife  went  on  in  her  old,  idle, 
fashionable  way,  caring  nothing,  of  course.  Well, 
one  day  he  sent  for  me— it  was  his  wife  who  brought 
the  message;  she  knew  nothing  of  what  liatl  hap- 
pened, of  course,  and  she  told  me  of  his  rc(iucst  and 
asked  nic  if  I  wouldn't  come  antl  sit  with  him  some- 
times.    And  I  went — I  went  often — used  to  read  to 

him  ;  many  different  books  at  fir.-,t,  mostly  poetry 

but  as  it  came  nearer  the  end  it  was  hard!)-  ever  aiiy- 
thiriLT  but  the  liible.  .  .  .  The  end  came  at  last. 
And  ju-t  the  (lay  before  he  died  he  said  to  me:  '  It'll 
be  to-niMrr-nv — to-morrow  about  this  lime.'  Then 
he  took  .'.  hi'jf  envel'vpc  from  under  liis  pillow,  ant!  he 
said:  'Tlii  M  he  ;;<-od-b\-e,  (iod  ble.ss  you  for  what 
you'\e  been  to  a  dying  man.  .And  I  want  you  to  d<i 
this.  I  want  j-.m;  to  come  to  m\-  gra\'e  a  year  from 
the  ni;.;ht  of  tlif  lay  I'm  buried — and  open  tlii--  en- 
velope there— but  i;.  .t  f.  >v  a  year.'     And  we  said  good- 


''I 


^ 


The    l^'/CTORS   SPOILS  271 

bye.  Well,  I  couldn't  refuse  the  request  of  a  dymg 
man— I  did  as  he  a.ked  me.  But  1  waited  a  year 
and  four  days.  Harve>-,"  and  .Miss  I-arrin-ali's  voice 
was  quite  triumphant ;  ••  1  waited  that  Ion-  because  I 
knew  no  man  would  believe  a  .voman  cuuld  do  it. 
.  .  .  And  thats  how  I'm  situated  as  I  am,  1  larvey. 
I  don't  think  anybody  ever  knew~I  puess  nobody 
cared;  principally  .stocks,  simply  transferred.  Do 
you  tiiink  I  did  right.  Harvey?"  she  asked  after  a 
pause. 

"Yes,"  said   Harvey  quickly,  unable  to  take  his 
eyes  from  her  face. 

"  Not  that  the  envelope  ever  did  me  very  much 
good,"  she  went  on.  "  J  often  think  how  much  hap- 
pier I'd  have  been  if  I'd  been  poor—and  had  had  that 
other.  ]kit  it  wasn't  to  be.  And  all  this  never  made 
me  happy— there  was  only  one  could  have  done 
tiiat ;  and  he  went  out  of  my  lile  long  age;— long  ago 
now,"  .he  said,  her  gaze  scanning  his  face  in  wistful 
scrutiny,  her  heart  busy  with  the  photograph  en- 
tombed III  the  silent  desk  before  her. 

"  So  I  think  you  certainly  ought  to  go.  as  I  said  " 
she  resumed,  cjuietly  reverting  to  the  original  topic 
"  I  know  the  signs,"  she  added  in  plaintive  plavful- 
nc..s_- even  if  they  do  call  me  an  old  maid-  I 
-Iiouldnt  wonder  if  they  know  the  sig„s  be.t'of 
'^ll-  Hilt  this  is  all  nonsense."  straighten ir.^r  herself 
resolutely  in  her  chair,  "and  has  notlnng  to  do 
;v.th  what  we're  talking  abot  When  is  tlie  party 
Harvey?"  ^' 

"It's    Friday    ni^dit   week— the   vn-  d  ■"    .<■---    ' 


B I 


tri"  I 


2']2 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


V  N 


graduate.  And  tlicy  leave  tlic  old  home  the  n.  xt 
day— I  told  you  all  about  Mi.  Norlands  failure.  It 
seems  they've  been  prepared  to  kave  for  some 
m  )nths— and  now  its  actually  come.  Mr.  i5orland 
gave  up  everything  to  hi.>  creditors,  I  believe  And 
this  is  a  notion  of  hiV  oun—just  like  him.  loo—that 
they'll  celebrate  the  last  night  in  their  old  home  this 
way;  he's  goinj;  to  have  Madelines  coming-out 
party  lor  a  hni.>h.     Quite  an  ori-inal  idea,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Will  that  young  fellow  from  your  town  be  there  ? 
—Mr.  Craig,  you  know?"  asked  Miss  Farrin^rall, 
without  answering  his  question.  She  did  not  look 
at  1  larvey  as  she  asked  her  own. 

"Oh.  yes,"  Harvey  answered,  "he'll  be  there,  of 
course— he's  very  attentive,"  Harvey's  eyes  were 
also  turned  away. 

"  Who's  he  attentive  to  ?  " 

"Why,  ti;  Miss  Borland— to  MadeUne,  of  course. 
He's  been  that  for  a  long  time." 
"Are  you  .^ure?  " 

"  Ves.  At  least,  I  suppose  so.  Why?"  Harvey 
asked  wonderin^^dy. 

"  Oh.  nothing  much—only  I  heard  his  affections 
were  divided  ;  another  Glenallen  girl,  I  heard." 

"Wiiat  was  the  name  ^ "  asked  Harvey,  inter- 
estedly. 

"I  did  hear,  I  think— it  doesn't  matter.  Please 
don't  ask  me  any  more— really.  I'm  ashamed  of  my- 
self. I'm  getting  to  be  such  a  silly  old  rrossip.  1  ell 
mc,  aie  you  going  to  get  the  medal  when  you 
graduate  ?  " 


■The    VICTOR  S    SPOILS 


27 » 


The  look  on  the  lacc  before  her  showed  that  tl,e 
cc.  uersat.un  had  turned  ],.  thou^iUs  towards  son.e- 
Unn,^  n,ore  absorb.nK^  than  .  .llcge  prenm-ms,  covet- 
able  thou.d,  they  be;  lu:  too  n-as  comi„.  .,  reah.c 
that  hte  Iias  only  one  .threat  pri/.c.  and  but  one  .'-en 
source  ot  sj^ringing  joy. 

"  I   have  my  doubts  about  the  medal."  Harvey  an- 
swered alter  a  pause;  ••  Ini  afraid  of  Kchlin-but  I''' 
K've  hmi  a  race  for  it.     I  think  I'm  sure  of  my  de- 
gree, all  risht.     Thaf-^  another  rea..on  inclines  n)e  to 
k'o  home  next  week."  he  added  cheerfully  ;  ■•  I  u-ant 
to  K.vc  my  sheepskin  to  my  mother ;  ifs  more  hers 
.-«"d  Jessie,  than  it  is  mine-and  I  want  them  to  see 
n>y  hood  too.  when  I  ,.ct  one;  and  the  medal."  h,s 
ace  br,,lucnin.  ..  if  I  .hould   ^,ave  the  luck  to  win 
t-     H;.t   there s  anoth^  ■   th.ng  that  troubles  me  a 
^U.c     he  added  with  ,    dolorous  smde.  ■.  and  that  is 
tf-at    I   haven  t  got  anything  to  wear,  as  the  ladies 
ay.     I    haven  t    a    dre.s  suit,  you   know-and   I'm 
afraul  anythmg  else'll  be  a  little  conspicuous  there  " 
M.ss   l-arnngall  smUcd  the  sweetest,  saddest  smile 
-she  turned  her  facet.,  Harvey's.     .- Oh.  child."  she 
sa  o.     j-ou  re  very  young  ;  and  you're  certainly  very 
un  am,l.r   w.th    the   woman-heart.     A    girl   dLn't 
-^re  a  fig  for  dress  .u,ts-I  think  they   rather  ad- 

n^n,cn  who  dress  originally."  she  went  on  assur^ 
-n.^Iy  ,  know  I  d,d.  then.     And  besides,  if.  all  to 

you,   cred.t  that  you  haven't  one-I  th.nk  that's  one 
o        e     ne  th.ngs  about  you.  that  you  haven't  got  so 

,       ^:'''"^^^".";^'^*  '^'^-  had.  if  you'd  been  a 
little  n,urc  ^eifish,    :,he  said,  almost  fondly. 


I 


MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1^ 

¥-^ 

|50 

1^ 

■  3.6 

2.5 


2.2 


2.0 


1.8 


A  /APPLIED  IM/^GE    Inc 

^^  1653   East    Mam    Strt^^l 

S'*a  Rochester,    Ne*   York         U609       USA 

'-SS  (716)    482  -  0300  -  Phone 

^S  (^'6)   288  -  5989  -  Fax 


n 


sn  ? 


274 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


"  Talk  about  not  being  selfish,"  Marvey  broke  in 
ardently ;  "  I'm  a  monster  of  selfishness  compared  to 
some  others  I  could  name — you  ought  to  see  my 
mother  and  my  sister,"  he  concluded  proudly. 

"  I  hope  I  nay  some  day,''  she  answered.  "  But 
meantime — about  what  you'll  wear.  I'd  wear  the 
medal  if  I  were  you.  But  tell  me  first,"  she  went 
on  in  a  woman's  own  persistent  way,  "  that  you'll 
accept  the  invitation.  Can't  you  make  up  yo^r 
mind?" 

Harvey  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  No,"  came  his 
answer  decisively,  "  I  don't  think  I  will.  I'm  going 
to  decline  with  thanks— self-denial's  good  for  a  fellow 
sometimes." 

"  Some  kinds  of  self-denial  are  sinful,"  said  Miss 
Farringall  quietly ;  "  but  they  bring  their  own  pun- 
ishment— and  it  lasts  for  years."  She  sighed,  and 
the  light  upon  her  face  was  half  of  yearning,  half  of 
love. 


"  Is  our  Tam  hame  frae  Edinburgh  yet?"  Such 
\vere  the  last  wandering  words  of  an  aged  brother  of 
the  great  Carlyle,  dying  one  summer  night  as  the 
Canadian  sun  shed  its  glory  for  the  last  time  upon 
his  face.  Thrice  twenty  years  had  flown  since,  fra- 
ternal pride  high  surging  in  his  heart,  he  had  clung 
to  his  mother's  skirts  while  she  waited  at  the  bend  of 
the  road  for  the  returning  Tom.  Carrying  his  shoes, 
lest  they  be  needlessly  worn,  was  that  laddie  wont  to 
come  from  the  halls  of  learning  where  he  had  scanned 


iifi 


&'^\%:^'^ 


•The    yiCJOR   S    SPOILS  2r^ 

the  page  of  knowledge  with  a  burning  heart— car- 
rying his  shoes,  but  with  his  laurels  thick  upon 
him,  his  advent  the  golden  incident  to  that  humble 
home  in  all  their  uneventful  year.  And  in  death's 
magic  hour  the  thrilling  scene  was  reenacted  as  the 
brother  heart  of  the  far-wandered  one  roamed  back 
to  the  halcyon  days  of  boyhood. 

The  same  spirit  (i  pride,  the  same  devotion  of 
love,  brooded  over  the  happy  circle  as  Harvey  sat 
this  placid  evening  between  his  mother  and  sister  in 
the  home  that  had  furnished  him  so  little  of  luxur)-, 
so  mucli  of  welcome  and  of  love.  He  was  home, 
and  he  was  theirs.  Trembling  joy  mingled  with  the 
mother's  voice  as  now  and  then  she  broke  in  with 
kindly  speech  upon  the  story  Harvey  found  himself 
telling  again  and  again.  The  story  was  of  his  career 
in  general,  and  of  the  last  great  struggle  in  particular  ; 
how  he  had  shut  himself  up  to  his  work  in  a  final 
spasm  of  devotion,  pausing  only  to  cat  and  sleep  till 
the  final  trials  were  over  and  the  victory  won.  And 
the  great  day,  his  graduation  tlay,  was  described  over 
and  o\-cr,  l)oth  listeners  in  a  transport  of  excitement 
while  he  told,  modestly  as  he  might,  of  the  ovation 
that  had  greeted  him  when  he  was  called  forward  to 
receive  his  hard-won  honours. 

"  And  you're  a  H.  A.,  Harvc\^  now— a  real  B.  A., 
aren't  yon,  Harvey  ?"  Jessie  c  ied  ecstatically.  "It 
secris  almost  too  good  to  be  true." 

Harvey  merely  smiled  ;  but  his  mother  spoke  for 
him.  "Of  course  he  is,"  she  answered  ([iiietly  ;  "  it'll 
be   on   all   his  letters.     But  the  medal,  Harvey— oh, 


276 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


my  son,  I  always  knew  you'd  win  it,"  her  voice  low 
and  triumphant.  "I  can  hardly  just  beheve  it ;  out 
of  all  those  students— with  their  parents  so  rich  and 
everything— that  my  own  son  carried  it  off  from  them 
all.  i\.nd  has  it  your  u  :ne  on  it,  Harvey? — with  the 
degree  on  it  too  ?  "  she  enquired  eagerly, 

"  Of  course,"  said  Harvc)',  •'  it's  in  my  trunk— and 
my  hood's  there  too  ;  they're  both  there,  mother.  It's 
a  beautiful  hood— and  I'll  show  them  to  you  if 
you'll  wait  a  moment,"  he  exclaimed  impulsivel)-, 
rising  as  he  spoke. 

But  his  eyes  met  Jessie's  and  a  darkness  like 
the  darkness  of  death  fell  upon  them  both.  Jessie 
was  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  her  hand  going 
up  instinctively  to  her  face  as  if  she  had  been 
struck,  Harvey's  pale  cheek  and  quivering  lips  be- 
trayed the  agony  that  wrung  him. 

"  Forgive  me,  mother,"  his  broken  voice  implored 
as  he  flung  himself  down  beside  her,  his  arms  en- 
circling her  ;  "  forgive  me,  my  mother— I  forgot,  oh, 
I  forgot,"  as  he  stroked  the  patient  face  with  infinite 
gentleness,  his  hands  caressing  the  delicate  cheeks 
again  and  again. 

"  He  didn't  mean  it,  mother— he  didn't  m  it," 
Jessie  cried,  drawing  near  to  them  ;  "  he  just  lorgot, 
mother— he  just  forgot,"  the  words  throbbing  with 
love  for  both. 

Hut  the  mother's  voice  was  untouched  by  pain. 
"  Don't  grieve  like  that,  my  darling."  she  pleaded, 
pressing  Harvey's  hands  close  to  her  cheek  ;  "  I  know 
it  was  nothing,  my  son— I  know  just  how  it  hap- 


1  "■'''Ll*  i-i.  i  i 


■The    VICTOR  S    SPOILS 


■I  I 


pencil.  And  wiiy  will  yo.i  ni.»urn  >o  lur  inc,  \\\\' 
chikliLii?"  she  went  un  in  cairn  anil  tenner  Unie.-, 
her  .irini  encn'ciin;^  buth.  "  Surely  I've  ;;iven  you 
no  rca-on  tor  this — haven't  I  olten  told  yon  how 
bri^lit  it  is  about  ine  ?  And  soinethinc,'  makes  nie 
sure  it's  L^eliint;  near  the  li;;ht.  Don't  }mu  renienibei-, 
dear,  how  the  doctor  said  it  niij^ht  all  conic  suti- 
denl)-? — and  1  feel  it's  coniiuL;.  coniinc;  last;  I  feel 
sure  God's  leading  nie  near  the  li,u;ht." 

"  Are  you,  mother?"  Harvey  a>ked.  The  quc;i- 
tion  came  simply,  earnestl}-,  almost  awesomely. 

"  Vcs,  dear;  yes,  I'm  sure.  ' 

"  We  always  asked  for  that.  Harvey  and  I  have, 
every  day — haven't  we,  Ilarvcy?"  Jessie  broke  in 
eac^erly. 

Harvc}-  nodded,  his  gaze  still  on  his  mother's  f;ice. 
l-'or  the  light  that  sat  upon  it  in  noble  calm  entranced 
him.  No  words  could  have  spoken  more  plamly  of 
the  far-off  source  that  kindled  it ;  and  a  dim,  holy 
sense  of  the  grandeur  of  her  outlook,  the  loftiness  of 
1  er  peace,  the  eternal  warrant  of  her  claim,  took 
possession  of  his  soul.  The  beauty  that  clothed 
her  was  not  of  time ;  md  no  words  of  tender 
dissembling  could  conceal  tiie  exultant  hope  that  be- 
spoke how  the  days  of  her  darkness  should  be 
ended. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  his  mother's  voice. 
"  Go  and  get  them,  I  larvey — bring  your  medal 
and  your  hood.  Bring  them  to  your  mother,  my 
son."  she  said,  as  she  released  him  to  do  her  bid- 
dine. 


II.  I 


2lS 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


He  was  gone  but  a  moment ;  returning,  he  bore  in 
one  hand  the  golden  token,  his  name  inwoven  with 
Its  gleam.  The  other  held  hi»  academic  hood,  its 
mystic  white  and  purple  blending  to  attest  the 
scholar's  station  ;  he  had  thrown  his  college  gown 
about  him. 

Mutely  standing,  he  placed  the  medal  in  liis 
mother's  hands.  They  shook  as  they  received  it, 
the  thin  fingers  dumbly  following  its  inscription,  both 
hands  enclosing  it  tightly,  thrilling  to  the  glad  sensa- 
tion. Then  he  held  the  hood  out  towards  her,  -stam- 
mering some  poor  explanation  of  its  material  and  its 
meaning. 

"  Put  it  on,  Harvey,"  she  said. 
He  swiftly  slipped   it  about  his  neck,  the  flowing 
folds  falling  down  from  his  shoulders.     Involuntarily 
he   iiended  before  his   mother,  and  the  poor  white 
hands  went   out  in  loving  quest  of  the  dear-bought 
symbol,  tracing  its  form  from  end  to  end,  lingering 
fondly  over  every  fold.     She   spoke   no  word — but 
the  trembling   fingers  still  roveci  about  the  glowing 
laurel  as  her  scholar  boy  stood  silent  before  her,  and 
the  I    t  tears  fell  thick  and  fast  upon  it.     i-or  the 
memory  of  other  days,  days  of  povcrt}'  and  stress  ;  and 
the  vision  of  the  childish  face  as  she  had  last  beheld 
it ;  and  the  thought  of  all  the  hidden  struggle,  more 
bitter  than  he  ever  knew,  that  had  tiuis  brought  back 
her  once  unknown  child  in  triumph  to  his  niuther's 
Imuk' — back,  too,   in   unchanged    devotion    and   un- 
abated love,  to  lay  his  trophies  at  the  feet  of  her  who 
bore  him — all  these  started   the  burning  tears  that 


The    1/ 1 C  TOR'S   SPOILS 


27g 


trickled   -o   last   from   the  unst-cin^  eyes  and  fell  in 
holy  stains  upon  the  spotless  emblem. 


Clocks  are  the  very  soul  of  cruelty,  relentless  most 
when  lovincj  hearts  most  wish  that  they  would  -tay 
their  hands.  The  ebbuif;  moments,  inconsiderate  ui 
all  but  diity,  tell  off  the  hours  of  our  ^dadness,  even 
of  sacramental  ;;Iadncss,  with  unpitying  faithfulness. 
And  yet,  -trani^e  as  it  maj-  seem,  how  blessed  is  the 
law  that  Will  not  let  us  know  when  the  last  precious 
moments  arc  on  the  win;^  !  How  often  do  dcv(;ted 
hearts  toy  with  them  carelessly,  or  waste  them  in  un- 
thinkiu!^  levity,  or  druc,^  them  with  unneeded  slumber, 
or  sciuau'ler  them  in  wanton  silence,  as  though  they 
were  to  last  forever!  How  the  most  prodigal  would 
garner  them,  and  the  most  frivolous  employ,  if  it 
were  onl\-  known  that  these  are  the  last  golden  sands 
that  glisten  their  parting  message  before  they  glide 
into  the  darkness  ! 

We  may  not  know.  As  these  two  did  not ;  and 
the  last  unconscious  hour  was  spent  in  the  company 
of  another.  "  It's  s  .  good  of  you  to  come  and  sit 
with  me,  Mis  Adair,  while  the  children  arc  at  the 
party,"  was  Mrs.  Simmons'  welcome  to  the  kindly 
acquaintance  a^  she  entered.  "  Jessie's  going  on 
ab.ead — '-he  promised  to  give  Madeline  some  little 
help,  -o  she  had  to  go  earlier.  Won't  you  need  to 
be  starting  soon.  Harvey  ?" 

"  Tm  going  just  in  a  minute,  mother,"  her  son 
answered.     "  And  you  should  have  seen  our  Jessie," 


l»Ri««-«J  ^.j.  _  jXki 


28o 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


he  digressed,  turning  to  their  visitor.  <•  She  never 
looked  sweeter  in  her  hfe.  And  the  dress  that  siie 
had  on,  she  made  it  herself,  she  said-I  didn't  know 
Jessie  was  so  acconiiMi:-,hed." 

"  Oil.  Jessies  made  many  a—she's  made  many 
an  adnnier.  by  her  dres.cs.'  the  adroit  Miss  Adair 
c<.ncludcd,  noticing  a  quick  movement  of  Mrs.  Sim- 
mons m  her  direction,  and  suddenly  recalling  the  in- 
junction she  had  forgotten. 

^    "  I'm  so  sorry  her  flowers  were  withered."  Harvey 
oroke  in,  quite  unconscious  of  what  had  been  averted 
"  I  sent  her  some   from   the  city-but  thev  were  sc 
u-.lted  when  they  came  that  i  didn't  want  her  to  take 

tJlCIM. 

"  Wait  a  minute.  Harvey-I'll  go  with  you  a  ..tep 
or  two,    his  mother  interrupted  as  her  son  stooped 
to    bid    her    good-night.     ..Mease  excu.se  mc.  Mi.ss 
Adair;  111  be   back   in  a  minute,"  taking  Hai .      ' 
arm  as  he  turned  towards  the  door. 

"  It  was  so  thoughtful  of  you  to  send  those  flc     - 
to  Jessie,"  she  said  as  they  moved  sloul)-  alon-  ,_ 
-silent  street;  "she  was   quite  enraptured  when  "Ihey 
came." 

"  1  sent  some  to—to  Madeline  too,"  Harvey  in- 
formed her  hesitatingly.  ••  Yon  see.  I  didn't  expect 
till  this  morning,  to  g„  to  the  party  at  all-and  1 
wrote  Madeline  declining.  So  she  isn't  cxpeclin-  me 
Jessie  promised  not  to  tell  her  I  had  change  /i  my 
mind  ;  and  in  my  letter  1  told  Madeline  I  xy-v.  sc.d- 
ms  the  flowers  in  my  place-but  I'm  afraid  they'll 
be  withered  too.     What's  the  matter,  mother  .p      for 


•The    VICTOR'S   SPOILS 


2S1 


her  whole  weight  seeiiicJ  .-i;JJcnl)  lo  cuiuc  upon  hio 
arm. 

"  Nothing,  dear;  nothin.i;  much,"  she  saiti,  a  httle 
pantm^ly.  "Let  us  sit  here  a  minute,"  Miikm;^  on 
an  adjoining'  step.  "  I've  had  these  off  ami  011  latcl\-," 
slie  added,  tryuig  to  smile.  "I'm  better  n^  — the 
doctor  says  it's  some  little  affection  of  tiie  heart.  I 
guess  it's  just  a  rush  of  happiness,"  she  su^\L,'ested 
bravely,  smiling  as  -he  turned  her  face  full  on 
Harvey's. 

"  I'm  so  happy,  my  -nil — -o  prmul  and  iiappy. 
You've  done  so  well;  and  God  ha.^  watched  t>\er  >ou 
so  wonderfully — and  protected  )'ou."  I  hen  her  voice 
fell  almost  to  a  whisper,  faltering  with  the  uord.>  she 
wanted  to  speak,  yet  shrank  from  uttering.  1  hc-^e 
spoken,  she  listened  as  intently  as  if  f  jr  the  footfall 
oi  approaching  death. 

"  No,  mother,"  he  answered  lov^-,  "  no,  never  once 
since — yet  I  won't  say  I  haven't  felt  it ;  I  know  I 
have,  more  than  once.  If  I'm  where  it  is — even  if  I 
catch  til  odour  of  liquor — the  appetite  seems  to 
come  back.  And  it  frightened  me  terribly  ;  it  was 
like  the  baying  of  hound.-."  drawing  closer  as  he 
spoke. 

"  That's  like  what  your  father  used  to  say,"  she 
whispered,  quivering. 

"  But  never  once,  mother — never  a  single  time,  since. 
I've  always  remembered  that  first  night  >()u  came 
into  my  room — and  that  other  time." 

"And  I,"  she  cried  eagerly,  "haven't  I?  I've 
been   there   riiny  a  night  since   then,  when  Jessie 


28: 


THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 


was  asleep — I  used  to  try  and  imagine  it  was  you, 
Harvcv,"  she  said,  turning  her  face  on  his  in  the  un- 


ill 


w 


;ertain  liglit. 


Tile  gentle  colloquy  flowed  on  while  the  shadows 
deepened  about  the  whispering  pair,  the  one  happy 
because  youth's  radiance  overshonc  his  patl;,the  other 
peaceful  because  a  deeper,  truer  light  was  gathering 
in  her  heart.  One  cloud,  and  one  alone,  impaired 
the  fullness  of  his  joy;  and  that  was,  what  even  his 
hopef.il  heart  could  not  deny,  that  his  mother's 
strength  Avas  obviously  less  than  when  he  had  seen 
her  last.  Hut  all  th";  devotion  of  the  years  seemed 
gathered  up  into  this  graciou>  hour;  the  mother, 
mysteriously  impelled,  seemed  loath  to  let  the  inter- 
view be  at  an  end,  though  she  knew  Harvey  must 
soon  be  gone. 

"  You'd  better  hurry  now,  dear,"  she  said  when  their 
own  door  was  reached;  "no,  nv_  ^  can  go  in  alone 
aU  right — on  with  you  to  the  party,  Harvey ;  they 
can't  any  of  them  be  happier  than  I  am  to-night. 
And  tell  Madeline,  for  me,  there's  only  one  chick 
like  mine  in  the  world — and  whoe\'cr  gets " 

The  remainder  of  the  message  was  lost  in  laughing 
protest  as  the  good-byes  were  said ;  the  mother 
stole  softly  in  to  her  patient  guest,  her  son  hurrying 
on  to  the  gathering  revelry. 


I 


i;  ^ 


x\v 

[I'HAT  MADE    THE  BALL    SO   l-INE? 

HARVKY  ccnilci  nut  forbear  to  indul>;c  a 
glance  throLii;li  the  flaming  window. s  as  he 
drew  near  the  Iiousc.  Me  noted,  a  hltk; 
ruefully  it  must  be  said,  that  almost  ever\-  gentleman 
guest  was  attired  after  the  conventional  fashion  he 
had  {jredicted ;  but  a  moment's  reasoning  repelled 
any  threatening  embarrassment  with  scorn.  Press- 
ing bravely  on,  he  had  soon  deposited  his  hat  and 
coat,  and  after  a  minute  or  two  of  waiting  in  the 
dressing-room  began  his  descent  of  the  .-tairs  to 
mingle  with  the  animated  scene. 

Looking  down,  one  of  the  first  to  be  descried 
was  David  Borland  himself,  as  blithe  a'ld  clieerful  as 
though  he  were  beginning,  rather  than  concluding, 
his  sojourn  in  the  spaciou.  house,  lie  was  chatting 
earnestly  with  Dr.  Fletcl-^r,  interrupting  the  conver- 
sation now  and  then  to  greet  some  new-arriving 
guest.  Near  him  was  his  wife,  absorbed  in  the  i)leas- 
ant  duty  ni  receiving  the  steadily  increasing  throng 
who  were  to  taste  for  the  last  time  the  hosp.cality  for 
whicli  that  home  had  long  been  famous. 

But  all  others,  and  there  were  man\-  whom  Harvey 
recogniz'xl  at  a  glance,  were  soon  forgotten  as  his 
eyes  rested  on  one  whose  face,  suddenly  appearing, 


384 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


t  \ 


m 


filled  all  the  ruoni  witli  liLTht.  For  Ivf  -Iclinc  was 
making  her  way  into  the  ample  hall,  flushed  and 
radiant ;  her  brow,  never  so  serene  befcjrc,  was  siightl)- 
moistened  from  the  evening's  warnUii.  while  the 
wonderful  hair,  still  bright  and  sunny,  glistened  in 
the  softly  shaded  light.  Aglow  with  excitement,  her 
cheeks  seemed  to  boast  a  colour  he  had  never  seen 
before,  the  delicate  pink  and  white  blending  as  on 
the  face  of  childhood  ;  and  the  splendid  eyes,  crown- 
ing all,  were  suffused  with  feeling.  The  significance 
of  the  hour  and  the  animation  of  the  scene  united  to 
create  a  sort  of  chastened  mirthfulness,  brimming 
with  dignity  and  hope,  yet  still  revealing  how  .seri- 
ously she  recognized  the  vicissitude  time  had  brought, 
how  well  she  knew  the  import  of  the  change  already 
at  the  door. 

Harvey  stood  still   on  the  landing,  gazing  down 
unobserved    his    eyes   never  turning   from   the  face 
whose  beauty  seemed   to   unfold   before  him  as  he 
stood.     Yet    not    mere    beauty,  either— he    did  not 
think   of  beaut)',  nor   would  he   have  so   described 
what  charmed  him  with  a  strange  thrill  he  had  ne\er 
owned  before— but  the  rich  expression,  rather,  of  an 
inward  life  that  had  deepened  and  mellowed  with  the 
years.     Great  sense  wa^  there,  for  one  thing— and  in 
the  last  appeal  this   feature  of  womanhood   is  irre- 
sistible to  a  truly  nianl}-  heart ;  and  her  fa'^e  spoke 
of  love,  large  and  generous,  as  if  the  weary  and  the 
troubled  would  ever  find  in  her  a  friend  ;  cheerfulness, 
courage,  hope,  the  dignity  of  purity,  the  sweetness 
that  marks  those  who  have  been  cherished  but  not 


IV  H^  I   MADE   J I     BALL  SO  hINEf      -85 

panipcrcu  and  indul-'d  bat  i-ul  petted, all  combined 
to  piuvuk  a  lovelnic^s  ut  cuLintcnaiicc  that  tairly 
ravi.ilicd  his  laart  a^  lie  peered  through  spreading 
pahii-    :i)  la  the  unconscious  lace  beiieaf''. 

\.i  Liie  joy  he  lelt  \\a.>  not  unin  ,  d.  I-'or  he 
eould  -ee,  a.i  a  nicjineiit  Liter  he  du.  .,  that  other 
e\e,->  Were  turned  uitli  ojiial  ardour  in  the  same  di- 
rection a^  his  own.  MadeUne's  appearance  \va-.  a 
kind  oi  trminphal  entry ,  and  there  lollowed  iier, 
willinfj  Courtiers,  two  or  three  of  the  gallants  ot'  the 
place,  whw.e  lunction  it  e\  idently  u.ls  to  bear  the 
j;Ioriou->  _<.Moui)^  (jf  lloucr-  tliat  various  admirers  had 
.^ent.  Harvey's  face  darkened  a  little  as  he  noted 
tiiat  Cecil  was  amon<;  them  ;  thou:;h,  to  tell  the  truth, 
his  seemed  the  most  carele.-.-  ^aze  of  all — if  admira- 
tion marked  it,  it  \va    hun;.;r\-  admiration  and  nothing 


more.      I5ut  the  flo 


he  ua.-  'arrymg  were  pure; 


lie  had  asked  leave  ..j  carry  them — and  they  them- 
selves could  not  protest,  shrink  as  they  might  from 
the  unfitting  hand.  Others,  nobler  spirits,  had  bur- 
dens of  equal  fra<,'raiice,  all  fre.-,h  and  beautiful  as  be- 
came the  object  of  their  homage. 

Slowly  Harvey  moved  down  the  stairs.  The  pro- 
prieties were  forgotten— all  e!>e  as  well — as  he  passed 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  15orland  by,  the  one  glancing  at  him 
with  obvious  admiration,  tiie  otlier  with  impatient 
questioning.  He  was  standing  close  in  front  of 
Madeline  before  she  knew  that  he  was  there  at  all ; 
suddenly  rais-ng  her  head  as  she  turned  from  speak- 
ing with  a  iriend,  the  soulful  eyes  fell  full  on  his. 
She  did  her  best — but  tlie  tid-.-s  of  life  arc  stron"  and 


286 


■THE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


willful,  and  this  one  ovcrswept  the  swift  barrier  she 
strove  to  interpose,  as  straws  arc  swept  before  a 
storm.  And  the  flood  outpoured  about  him,  surging 
as  it  smote  the  passion  that  leaped  to  meet  it,  the 
silent  tumult  beating  like  sudden  pain  on  heart  and 
ears  and  eyes,  its  mingled  agony  and  rapture  engulf- 
ing him  till  everything  seemed  to  swim  before  him 
as  before  a  drunken  man. 

What  voices  silent  things  possess  !     And  how  God 
speaks  through  dull  inanimate  creatures  as  by  the 
hving  lips  of  love  !     And  what  tell-tale  tongues  have 
the    most   trivial   things    to   j.  al   out   life's    holiest 
messages  !     For  he  saw— dimly  at  first  and  with  a 
kind  of  shock,  then  clearly  and  with  exultant  cer- 
tainty— he  saw  what  was  in  her  hand.     It  was  only 
a  bunch  of  simple  flowers  ;  but  they  were  sorry  look- 
ing things  compared  to  their  rivals  whose  fragrance 
filled   the  air,  and  the   languor  of  death  was  upon 
them— yes,  thank  God,  their  bloom  v/as  faded,  their 
freshness  gone.     For  he   recognized  them,  he  knew 
them  ;  and  in  the  swift   foment  of  his  mind  he  even 
saw  again  the  hard  commercial  foce  of  the  man  from 
whom  he  had   bought  them,  again  the  hard  spared 
coins   he   had  extracted  from  the  poor  total  his  pov- 
erty had  left  him,  his  heart  the  while  leaping  within 
him  as  though  it  could  stand  imprisonment  no  more. 
Diml}-,  vaguely,  he  saw  behind  her  the  noble  clusters 
that  other  hands  had  sent— but  other  hands  than  hers 
were  bearing  them— and  his  were  in  her  own,  in  the 
one   tliat  was   bared  in  careless  beauty  .t<  her  glove 
hung  indirfeient  from  the  wrist,  unconscious  of  all  that 


U^H^T  MADE  The  BALL  SO  fIXE  >      2S7 


had  displaced  it.  Careless  observers  had  dt)ubtless 
noted  the  dying;  flowers,  marvelled  mayhap ;  they 
knew  not  how  instinct  they  were  with  life,  how  fade- 
less against  the  years  their  memory  wa^  to  sweeten 
and  enrich. 

.He  stood  silent  a  moment  with  his  hand  half-out- 
stretched, his  cyc>  divided  between  the  flowers  be- 
neath and  the  face  above.  His  soul  outpoured  itself 
through  them  in  a  riot  of  joy  he  had  neither  desire 
nor  power  to  restrain.  Madeline  stood  like  some 
lovely  thing  at  ba> ,  her  eyes  aglow,  their  message 
half  of  high  reproach  and  half  of  passionate  welcome. 
"  You  told  me  you  weren't  coming,"  she  said  in 
protesting  tones,  the  words  audible  to  no  one  but 
himself;  -and  I  didn't  expect  you,"  her  lips  parted, 
her  breath  coming  fast  and  fitfully,  as  though  she 
were  exhausted  in  the  chase.  Her  radiant  face  was 
glorified— she  knew  it  not— by  the  rich  tides  of 
life  that  leaped  and  bounded  there,  disporting  them- 
selves in  the  hour  they  had  awaited  long.  Yet  her 
whole  attitude  was  marked  by  a  strange  aloofness, 
tlie  wild  air  of  liberty  that  is  assumed  b>-  captive 
things ;  and  her  voice  was  almost  controlled  again  as 
she  repeated  her  remark. 

"  You  said  you  weren't  coming  ;  "  the  words  voiced 
an  interrogative. 

"  So  I  did,"  he  acknowledged,  his  c\c.->  roafiiiiifi 
about  her  face,  "  but  I  came,"  he  added  absently,  a 
heavenly  stupidity  possessing  him. 

"How's  your  mother  .> "  she  asked,  struggling 
back. 


r'wi    t 


u 


288 


THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 


"  She's  not  at  all  well,"  he  answered,  the  tone  full 
of  real  meaning ;  for  this  was  a  realm  as  sacred  to 
him  as  the  other. 

She  was  trying  to  replace  her  glove,  the  latter 
stubbornly  resisting. 

"  Please  button  this  for  me,"  as  she  held  out  hcT 
arm.  He  tried  eagerly  enough;  but  his  hand  trem- 
bled like  an  aspen,  llcr  own  was  equally  unstead}-, 
and  progress  was  divinely  slow.  He  paused,  looking 
helplessly  up  into  her  face  ;  her  hand  fell  by  her  side. 
Before  either  knew  that  he  was  near,  Cecil's  voice 
broke  in  :  •'  Allow  me,  Madeline,"  he  said  ;  "  I'm  an 
old  hand  at  operations  like  this— I'll  do  it  for  you, 
Madeline,"  as  though  he  gloried  in  the  name,  and 
almost  before  she  knew  it  he  had  seized  her  arm, 
swiftly  accomplishing  his  purpose. 

Madeline  was  regal  now,  her  very  pose  marked  b\- 
unconscious  pride.  "Thank  you,"  she  said,  still 
sweetly,  "  but  I  don't  believe  I  want  it  fastened  now 
—it's  quite  warm  here,  isn't  it  ? "  and  with  a  quick 
gesture  she  slipped  it  from  her  hand,  moving  forward 
towards  her  father.  Harvey  stood  still  where  he  was  ; 
but  the  new  heaven  and  the  new  earth  had  come. 

The  evening  wore  on  ;  nor  could  any  gathering 
have  been  enriched  with  more  of  feeling  than  per- 
vaded the  triumphant  hours.  All  seemed  to  forget 
the  occasion  that  had  convened  them,  remembcrin,, 
nothing  but  the  valued  friends  who  were  still  to  be 
their  own,  even  if  outward  circumstances  were  about 
to  undergo  the  change  so  defiantly  acknowledged. 
The  crowning  feature  came  when  the  simple  sup- 


IVHAT  MADE  The  BALL  SO  FIXE?      289 

per  was  finished  and  the  tabic  parti.illy  cleared  ;  lor 
they  who  would  remember  David  Horland  at  his  best 
must  think  of  him  as  he  appeared  when  he  called  the 
guests  to  order  and  bade  them  till  their  glasses  high. 
"  Take  your  choice  ot"  lemonade  or  ginger  ale,"  lie 
cried  with  a  voice  hke  a  heightening  breeze  ;  and  diey 
who  knew  him  well  silently  preiJicted  the  be>t  ot 
David's  soul  for  the  assembled  guests  that  night. 
"  There  ain't  iiothin'  stronger,"  he  went  on  with 
serious  mien  ;  "  drinks  is  always  solt  when  times  is 
hard— but  drink  h.arty,  triends.an'  givetiieoldhou.se 
a  good  name." 

Possibly  there  was    the   slightest   s\-mptom    of  a 

tremor  in  his  voice  as  it  relerred  thu-  to  what  he  held 

so  dear,  now  about  to  be  surrendered  ;  but  a  moment 

later  the  old  indomitable  light  wa.-,  kindled  in  hi.-,  e\e, 

the  strong  face  beaming  with  the  unquenched  humour 

that  had  been  such  a  fountain  in  his  own  lite  and  the 

lives    of    otners.     Si>mething    of    new    dignity    was 

noticeable  in  his  entire  bearing,  the  bearing  of  a  man 

who,  if  beaten,  had  been  beaten  in  honourable  battle, 

resolved   still   to   retain   all   that   wa..   dearest   to    hi.s 

heart;  this  e.xplained  the  look  of  pride  with  which  he 

marked,  as  he  could  hardl\-  tail  to  mark,  the  affection 

and  respect  with  which  every  e\e  regarded  hiina.-  he 

stood  before  lii>  tViends. 

The  toa>^t  to  the  King,  and  one  other,  had  been  di'^- 
posed  of,  David  proceeding  merrilj- to  launch  another, 
when  suddenly  he  wa^  interrupted  in- Ccnrdie  Nickle, 
who  rose  from  his  place  at  the  further  end  of  the 
table. 


■■•  an*!"  *.'-.-.s  ■HifLt-     ri.  V-  «; 


290 


7HE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


!    i 


H. 


"  Sit  doon,  David,"  he  enjoined,  nodding  vehe- 
mently towards  his  friend,  "  an'  gie  an  auld  man  a 
chance.  Ladies  an'  gentlemen,"  he  went  on,  direct- 
ing his  remarks  to  the  company,  "  I'll  ask  ye  to  fill 
yir  glasses  wi'  guid  cauld  water  for  to  drink  the  toast 
I'll  gie  ye — naethin'll  fit  the  man  I'm  gaein'  to  men- 
tion as  weel  as  that ;  there's  nae  mixture  aboot  him, 
as  ye  ken.  I'm  vintin'  all  o'  ye  to  drink  a  cup  o' 
kindness  to  the  man  we  love  mair  when  he's  puir 
nor  we  ever  did  afore.  Here's  to  yin  o'  th' 
Almichty's  masterpieces,  David  Borland— an'  may 
He  leave  him  amang  us  till  He  taks  him  till 
Himsel'." 

Geordie  paused,  his  glass  high  in  air.  And  the 
fervid  guests  arose  to  drink  that  toast  as  surely  toast 
had  never  been  drunk  before.  With  a  bumper  and 
with  three  times  three,  and  calling  David's  name  aloud 
after  a  fashion  that  showed  it  had  the  years  behind  it, 
and  with  outgoing  glances  that  spoke  louder  than 
words,  every  face  searching  his  own  in  trust  and 
sympathy  and  love,  they  did  honour  to  the  host 
who  should  entertain  them  there  no  more. 

It  was  almost  too  much  for  David.  He  arose  when 
his  guests  had  resumed  their  seats,  and  stood  long 
looking  down  without  a  word.  But  he  began  at  last, 
timidly,  hesitatingly,  emotion  and  language  gradually 
making  their  way  together  as  his  eyes  were  slowly 
lifted  to  rest  upon  the  faces  of  his  friends.  He 
referred  frankly  to  the  occasion  that  had  brought 
them  together,  thus  to  bid  farewell  to  the  scene  of 
n;any  happy  gatherings.     '<  Folks  say  I'm  beaten," 


H^HAT  MADE  The  BALL  SO  FINE?      -91 

he  went  on,  "  but  that  ain't  true.  I'm  not  beaten. 
I've  lost  a  little — but  I've  saved  more,"  as  he  looked 
affectionately  around.  "  I'm  not  really  much  poorer 
than  I  was.  I  never  cared  a  terrible  lot  about  money  ; 
'twas  the  game  more.  Just  like  boys  with  marbles; 
they  don't  cat  'em,  they  don't  drink  'em — but  they 
like  to  win  'em." 

Then  he  referred  to  the  justice  of  the  power  that 
disturbs  the  security  of  human  comfort,  though  he 
employed  no  sucli  terms  a>  those.  "  A  iellow's  got 
to  take  the  lean  with  the  f.it,"  he  said  resignedly  ; 
"  hasn't  got  no  right  to  e.xpect  the  clock'U  strike 
twelve  every  time.  A  miller  that  sets  his  wheel  by 
the  spring  fre.^hct,  he'd  be  a  fool,"  he  announced 
candidl}',  knowing  no  term  more  .iccurale,  "  'cause 
it's  bound  to  drop  some  time.  Of  course,  it  comes 
tougher  to  ^i,'"t\'  poor  than  to  /v  poor;  it's  worse 
to  be  mipoverished  than  jest  to  be  poor,  as  our 
friend  Harvey  here  would  say;  he's  a  scholar,  you 
know,  and  a  B.  A.  at  that,"  he  added,  turning 
his  eyes  with  the  others  towards  Harvey's  conscious 
face. 

"  A  stoot  heart  tae  a  steep  brae,  David  !  "  broke  in 
Geordie's  voice  as  he  leaned  forward,  his  admiring 
gaze  fixed  on  his  friend. 

"Them's  my  sentiments,"  asscnttv,  Oavid,  smiling 
back  at  tlie  dauntless  Scotchman.  "  I  mind  a  woman 
out  in  Illinois — she  was  terrible  rich,  and  she  got  ter- 
rible poor  all  of  a  sudden.  We'!,  she  had  to  wa'^h 
her  own  dishes,  after  the  winds  descended  an'  the 
floods  blew  and  beat  upon  her  house,  as  the  Scriptur' 


2Cl?, 


•THE    U/EB    OF    TIME 


\.  ■ 


'1' 


saN-.s—an' she  jet   put  on   c.cry  diamond   ring  she 
had  to  her  name  an'  went  at  it.     That's  Mr.  Nickie's 
mcanin  .  my  friends,  I   take  it-an'   that's  jest  what 
m  gom'  to  do  myself.     I  don't  know  exactly  what 
1  ni  agoin'  to  go  at,"  he  went  on  tho;.  ^htfuUy  •  "  IVe 
got  a  kind  of  an  offer  to  be  a  kind  of  advisin''  floor- 
walker for  the  line  I've  been  at-an'  maybe  I'll  take 
It  an   keep  my  hand  in  a  bit.     We're  goin'  to  live  in 
a  httle  cottage-an'  there'll  always  be  heaps  o'  room 
fur  you  all.     An'  we're  goin'  to  manage  all  right " 
he  went  on.  lus  eye  lighting  at  what  was  to  follow  • 
'•1  ve  got  an  arrangement  made  with  .Madeline  here' 
W  c  won't  have  a  terrible  lot  of  help  round  the  house ; 
so  shes  gom'  to  attend  to  the  furnace  in  the  winter 
-an   I  m  goin'  to   look  after  it  in  the  summer      So 
we  II  get  along  all  right,  all  right.     An'  now,  friends  " 
he  continued  seriously,  "  I  must  hump  it  to  a  close 
as  the  preachers  say.     But  tiiere's  one  thing-don't 
believe  all  Mr.  Nickle  tells  you  about  me  ;  I  ain't  near 
as  good  as  he  says.     These  Scotchmen's  terrible  on 
epitaphs  when   they  once  get  started.     An'  he's  like 
all   the  rest  o'  them-when  he  likes  a  man  he  swal- 
ows  him  wh,     .     But  I  want  to  thank  ycu  al'  for 
helpin  us  to  make  the  last  night  so  jolly.     I  don't  find 
It  hard  myself,  for  I'm  as  certain  as  I  ever  was  of  any- 
thin   it's  all  for  the  best.     I  want  you  1o  give  that 
hymn  out  again  next  Sunday,  doctor,"  and  David's 
face  had  no  trace  of  merriment  as  he  turned  to  look 
for  Ins  pastor  by  his  side  ;  '•  oh.  I  forgot  the  doctor 
goes  liome  early-but  I'll  ask  him  anyhow,  an'  we'll 
sing  It   louder'n  we  ever  did  before.     It's  been  run- 


IVHy^T  MADE  Th:  BALL  SO  hINL?      2^} 

nin'  in  my  mind  un  awful  lot  lately:  '  With  tin-rcy 
an'  with  judgment ' — you  can't  beat  them  words 
much ;  it's  the  old  comlortin'  thought  about  Who's 
weavin'  the  web.  So  now  1  jest  want  to  thank  every- 
body here  for  comin' — we'\e  had  good  happy  years 
together,  an'  there's  more  to  folhnv  yet,  please  God," 
he  predicted  reverently  as  he  resumed  his  seat,  the 
deep  silence  that  reigned  about  him  being  more  im- 
pressive than  the  most  boisterous  applause. 

The  pause  which  followed  was  broken  by  a  sug- 
gestion, low  and  muffled  at  first,  gradually  findir^g 
louder  voice  and  at  last  openly  endorsed  by  Geordie 
Nickle,  that  •'  auld  lang  syne  "  would  be  a  fitting  se- 
quel to  what  had  gone  before.  David  hailed  the 
proposal  with  delight. 

"  We  11  sing  it  now,"  he  said  enthusiastically,  "  an' 
we'll  have  the  old  doxology  right  after— they're  both 
sacred  songs,  to  my  way  o'  thinkin',"  as  he  beckoned 
to  Geordie  to  take  his  place  beside  him,  the  company 
rising  to  voice  the  love-bright  cla.-,sic. 

But  just  as  cordial  hands  were  outgoing  to  loyal 
hands  outstretched  to  meet  th-  ,  the  door-bell  broke 
in  with  sudden  clamour,  and  .  jme  one  on  the  outer 
edge  of  the  circle  called  aloud  the  name  of  J  larvcv 
bmimons.  There  was  something  ominous  in  the 
tone,  and  one  at  least  detected  the  paleness  of  Har- 
vey's cheek  as  he  luirricd  towards  the  door,  A  mo- 
ment -atficed  the  breathless  messenger  to  communi- 
cate what  he  had  to  tell,  and  in  an  instant  Harve/ 
had  turned  swiftly  towards  the  wondering  company. 
He  spoke   no  word,  offered  no  explanation,  but  his 


7TRses«r 


294 


THE    U/EB    OF    TIME 


eye  fell  on  Jessie's  in  silent  intimation  of  wbat  she 
already  seemed  to  fear.  Noiselessly  she  slipped  from 
the  now  voiceless  circle,  joining  her  brother  as  they 
both  passed  swiftly  out  into  the  night. 


i: 

Ml; 

Ifi  .|lf 

i; 

iilill  ; 

i 

if 

XXVI 
"THE  FAIR  SIVEEJ    MORN  AWAKES" 

DARKNESS  was  about  them,  dense  and  si- 
lent;  nor  v.ere  the  shadows  that  wrapped 
their  hearts  less  formidable.  For  something 
seemed  to  tell  iiarvey  that  one  ot  life's  great  hours 
was  approaching,  like  to  which  there  is  none  other  to 
be  confronted  by  a  lad's  loving  soul.  Involuntarily, 
almost  unconsciously,  his  hand  went  out  in  tne  dark- 
ness in  search  of  his  sister's  ;  warm  but  trembling,  it 
stole  into  his  own.  And  thus,  as  in  the  far-off  days 
of  childhood,  they  went  on  through  the  dark  to- 
gether, the  slight  and  timid  one  clinging  to  the  strong 
and  fearless  form  beside  her.  Hut  now  both  hearts 
were  chilled  with  fear — not  of  uncanny  shadows,  or 
grotesque  shapes  by  the  wayside,  or  nameless  perils, 
as  had  been  the  case  in  other  days — but  of  that  mys- 
terious foe,  on-:  they  had  never  faced  before,  ever  rec- 
ognized as  an  enemy  to  be  some  day  reckoned  with, 
but  now  knocking  at  the  gate.  Yet,  awful  though 
they  knew  this  enemy  to  be,  their  feet  scarce  seemed 
to  touch  the  ground,  so  swiftly  did  they  hurry  on  to 
meet  him,  counting  every  moment  lost  that  held  them 
back  from  the  parting  struggle.  Hand  in  hai  d  they 
pressed  forward,  these  children  of  the  shadows. 
"  Did  they  say  she  was  dying,  Harvey  ? "  Jessie 

295 


2  <->("> 


mt 


III-. 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 
an    awesome    voice,    little    mure   than    a 


a-^ked     in 
whimper. 

•*  Ihat's  what  they  thouglit."  l,c  aM>uerecl,  hi.  hand 
tightemng  on  hers;  "she  thou-ht  .o  herself 

l"lK-  girl  tried  m  vain  tu  check  the  cry  that  broke 
irom  her  hps.  -  JJon't,  .s,.ter.  don't,'  he  pleaded,  lii. 
own  voice  m  ruin,,;  -  maybe  she  w..n't  leave  us  yet 
-but  It  she  does,  if  siie  does,  J.e'll  see-she'ii 
see  agam.  Jessie."  The  emotion  that  throbbed  m 
the  great  prediction  showed  how  a  mother's  blind- 
ness can  lay  its  hand  on  children's  hearts  throu.^a 
long  and  clouded  >-ears. 

''But  she  won't  see  us,  Harvey,  she  won't  see  us 
before  she  goes.     Oh,  Harvey,  I've  longed  so  much 
for  that,  just  that  mother  might  see  us_even  if  it  was 
only  once-before  she   dies.     And.  you   know,  Mie 
doctor  said  if  it  came  it  would  come  suddenly  •  and 
I  ve  always  thought  every  morning  that  perhaps  it 
might  come  that  day.     And  now,"  the  sobbing  voice 
went  on,  «  now_if  she  goes  away-she  won't  have 
seen  us  at  all.     And  ue  always  prayed,  Harvey;  w'e 
prayed  always  for  that,"  she  added,  half-rebelliously 
Her  brother  answered  n^.  ;cr  a  word.     Instead  he 
took  a  firmer  grasp  upon  his  sister's  hand  and  strode 
resolutely  on.     By  this  time  his  head  was  lifted  liigh 
and  his  eye  was  kindled  with  a  strange  and  burning 
g  ow,  his   heart  leaping  like  a   frightened  thing  the 
vvhuc;  for  he  could  descry  the  light  of  their  cottage 
home.     Tiny    and    insignificant,    that    home   stood 
wrapped  in  darkness  save  for  that  one  sombre  beacon- 
hght-but  the  flickering     leam  that  rose  and   fell 


k.'>?^t 


"The  FAIR  SWEET  MOR\  AWAKES"    207 

.-ccincd  to  call  liiin  to  the  luo-t  iiiajc^uc  ot"  all  earthly 
accnc^,  such  scenes  a.>  lend  tu  hovel  ur  to  palace  the 
;  ...uc  unearthly  splendour. 

'•Will  she  know  us,  do  you  thinl:  '  "  Jomc  whi^- 
j)ered  as  they  pushed  open  the  unlocked  duor  and 
went  -n  into  tlie  ditniy  i:.;liictl  hou^e.  llarve}-did 
not  aeeni  1.)  hear,  so  benl  \va>  he  i>\\  the  solemn  ipiest, 
ascending'  the  .lair  .->\viliiy  butMlenliy.  hi,-,  s  ter'>  hand 
■.till  tight  within  hi^  oun.  A.^  they  c.inie  near  the 
top  they  could  ju>t  catch,  through  the  hall-open  du,>v, 
the  outline  of  their  mother'.-,  face,  the  .-,tamp  of  death 
uninistakably  upon  it ;  she  lay  white  and  ..till  upcn 
her  pillow,  two  forms  '-.-nding  ab.ne  her,  one  of 
which  they  recognized  a*;  once  as  tiie  doctor's. 
Whereat  suddenly,  as  if  unable  to  go  farther,  1  larvey 
■•topped  and  stood  still  ;  Jcssie  did  likewise,  turning 
with  low^  sobs  and  flinging  herself  into  her  brother's 
.irms,  her  face  hidden  while  he  held  her  close,  silently 
endeavouring  to  comfort  the  stricken  heart. 

"  Don't,  Jessie,"  he  whispered  gently.  "  Let  us 
make  it  easier  for  her  if  we  can — and  let  us  think  of 
ail  it  means  to  her— all  it'll  bring  back  aL'ain. 
Come,"  the  last  word  spoken  with  subdued  passion, 
courage  and  anguish  blending.  The)'  went  in  to- 
gether, slowly,  each  seeming  to  Wuit  for  the  otiier  to 
lead  the  way.  Their  look,  their  movements,  their 
manner  of  walk,  the  very  way  iliey  leaned  forward 
to  peer  with  eager,  awe-inspired  eye-  upon  tlieir 
mother's  face — all  spoke  of  childhood  ,  everything 
reverted  in  this  great  hour  to  the  sweet  simplic- 
ity of  fh-      ^"rjod   of  life  tb.at  had  bound  them   to 


'^^'^i'n:j'C^'"'7msL^r''^r^-y^.'mim^m 


298 


•THE    iVEB    OF    TIME 


their  mother  in  sacred  liclplessness.  The  primal  pas- 
sion flu  wed  anew.  And  the  two  who  crossed  the 
floor  togetlicr,  tip-toein-j  towards  the  bed  whereon 
their  only  earthly  treasure  lay,  were  now  no  more  a 
laurel-laden  man  and  a  maiden  woman-grown,  wag- 
ing the  stern  warfare  life  had  thrust  upon  them ;  but 
they  were  simply  boy  and  girl  again,  hand  hnkcd  in 
hand  as  in  the  far  departed  days  when  iwn  stained 
and  tiny  palms  had  so  often  lain  one  within  the  other 
—boy  and  girl,  their  hearts  wrung  with  that  strange 
grief  that  would  be  powerless  against  us  all,  could 
we  but  remain  grown-up  n.cn  and  women,  l-'or  the 
kingdom  of  sorrow  resembles  the  ki-rrdom  of  heaven, 
m  this,  at  least,  that  we  ente.-  farthest  in  when  we  be- 
come like  little  children ;  and  an  all-wise  Father  has 
saved  many  a  man  from  incurable  maturity  by  the  re- 
juvenating touch  of  sorrow,  by  the  youth-renewing 
ministry  of  tears. 

"  Look,  oh,  Harvey,  look,"  Jessie  suddenly  whis- 
pered in  strange,  excited  tones.  Subdued  though  her 
voice  was.  a  kind  of  storm  swept  through  it.  I  larvey 
started,  looked  afresh — and  saw  ;  and  instinctively, 
almost  convulsively,  he  turned  and  clutched  Jessie 
tightly  by  the  arm.  She  too  was  clinging  to  him  in 
a  very  spasm  of  trembling. 

"  She  sees  us,"  came  Jessie's  awesome  tidings,  her 
face  half-hidden  on  her  brother's  shoulder. 

"  Sht  sees  us,"  he  echoed  absently,  his  face  turn- 
ing again  towards  the  bed,  his  eyes  resumiiig  the 
wondroi     quest. 

He  gazed,  unspeaking,  as  one  might  gaze  who  sees 


"The  FAIR  SIVEET  MORS  All'AKLS"    2^ 

within  the  veil.  All  cl.ic  u.i.-,  forj^ottcii,  even  threat 
Death — iso  jealous  of  all  ri\al> — uh(j>e  pie-Felice  had 
Ucd  the  rouin  a  moment  or  two  a^t,'one.  And  the 
silent  year.-,  beyond— ah  me!  the  achin^^  silence  alter 
a  mother'.s  voice  i.s  hu>hed — were  unthou-ht  ol'  now. 
And  the  <;rim  and  bcxlin-  .sli.tdc  of  orphanhood, 
dcepenin;:  from  twili^dit  into  dark,  ua.s  unavailiii<,' 
again.st  the  new-born  lijdit  that  Hooded  all  hi,  soul 
with  joy. 

For  he  .saw  —and  the  bitter  memories  of  b}-^^.  )ne 
years  fled  before  the  vision  a.>  the  ni^'ht  retreat.-,  be- 
fore the  dawn— he  saw  a  smile  upon  hi^  mother's 
face,  the  smile  he  had  not  seen  for  \  ears  ;  unfor<;ot- 
ten,  for  it  had  min^ded  with  hi.-,  dreani^— but  it  had 
vanished  from  her  eye.s  when  those  eye,  had  looked 
their  last  upon  her  children'.,  faces.  Ve,,  it  was  in 
her  eyes— bn;4htpjss  he  had  often  seen  before  on 
check  and  lip,  mer-'ment  even— but  this  was  the 
heart's  loving  laui^i.^er  breaking'  throu<,di  the  soul's 
clear  window  as  it  had  been  wont  to  do  before  that 
wintiow  had  been  veiled  in  gloom. 

lie  remembered  afterwards,  what  he  did  not  then 
remark,  that  the  doctor,  observing,'  his  rapt  expres- 
sion, came  close  with  some  whispered  e.\;>lanation— 
some  discourse  on  the  rela.xation  of  the  optic  nerve 
as  a  result  of  physical  collapse— something  of  that 
sort,  and  much  more,  did  the  good  man  stammer 
lorth  to  eke  out  this  miracle  of  God.  But  Harvey 
heard  him  not— nor  saw  him  even — for  the  love- 
hght  in  his  mother's  eyes  called  him  with  impe- 
rious   voice,    and    almost    roughly    did    he    snatch 


wm 


WU.Ji! 


300 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


ill 


;iw!: 


himself  from   Jessie's  grasp  as  he  pressed   forward 
with    outstretched    hands.     He    moved   around    the 
foot  of  the  bed,  his  hands  still  extended;   and  as 
he   did  so  he  noticed,  with  wild  surging  joy,  that  the 
devouring  eyes  followed  him  as  he  went,     The  sen- 
sation, new,  elemental,  overpowering,  almost  over- 
came him  ;  something  of  the  sense  of  repossession  of 
a  long  absent  soul,  or  the  kindling  of  a  long  extin- 
guished fire,  or  the   cessation  of  a  long  torme.iting 
pain,  laid  hold  upon  his  heart.     As  he  drew  near  and 
bent  low  above  the  bed,  his  mother's  <"ace  was  al- 
most as  a  holy  thing,  so  transfigured  was  it  with  its 
glow  of  love.     The  rapture  in  her  eyes  was  such  as 
conquerors    know— for  it  was   the   moment   of  her 
triumph  after  the  long  battle  with  the  jears.     And 
her  lips  moved  as  if  they  longed  to  chant  the  victor's 
song  ;  yet  they  were  muffled  soon— for  the  hands  she 
laid    upon    the  bended   shoulders    of   her  boy  were 
hungry  hands,  and  that  strange  strength   so   often 
vouchsafed  the  d^-ing  was  loaned  her  as  she  drew  the 
manly  f.jrm,  all  quivering  and  broken  now,  clohe  to 
her    throbbing   bosom.      A    niomcnt   only—for  tlie 
yearnin.:,-   eyes  would    not   be    long    denied— till   she 
gently  released  the  hidden  face,  holding  him  fo;-th  be- 
fore her  while  the   l-ng  thiisting  orbs  drank  deep  of 
holy  gladness. 

"Oh,  Harvey,"  she  murmured  low,"  Harvc\-,  m\- 
son — my  little  son." 

'<  Alother— my  mother,"  he  answered  back,  as  his 

hand  stroked  tlie  pallid  cheek  ;  for  the  new  vision  was 

--■■'■  ^•"  ''■'^'  -'■-  "t.;!-  rctummu;  vision  could  be 


-The  FAIR  SiyEET  MORN  AlVAKES'    301 

to  her.  "  Oil,  mother,  don't— don't  leave  lis  now. 
dear  mother,"  he  sobbed  ui  i-leadni-.  the  chiid-note' 
breakin-  tin-uugh  his  voice  a-aiii,  ••  now.  when  we'll 
all  be  so  happ)-,  mother." 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head  kiintl)- ;  his  plea 
seemed  to  find  but  faint  lod,ijment  hi  her  mind.     I-or 
she  was   otherwise  cmplo>-ed  ;  she  -a/.ed,  as  tliou-h 
she    could    never    ga/.e    enou-h,    up.jii    the    loviir<;. 
pleading  face  before  her  ;   she  wa>  .searching  fur  all 
that  would  reveal   the  soul   behind— all   that  might 
speak  of  purity,  and  temperance,  and  victory  ;  she  was 
gathering  traces  of  the  years,  the  long  curtained  years 
through  which   his   unfolding  soul  had  been  hidden 
from   lier  sight.     And   her   eyes  wandered    from  his 
face  only  long  enougii  to  lift  themselves  to  heaven  m 
mute  thanksgiving  to  that  God  whose  truth  and  faith- 
fulness  are   the  strength  and   refuge  of  a  motiier's 
heart. 

Suddenly  she  turned  restlessly  upon  her  pillow,  lier 
ga/.e  outgoing  bej-ond  Harvey's  now  bended  head. 

"  Oh,  Jessie,"  she  said  with  returning  rapture."  oh, 
Jessie—my  wee  Jessie— my  little  daughter;  oh.  my 
darling."  as  she  drew  the  awe-stricken  face  down  be- 
Mde  her  brother's.  There  they  nestled  close,  there  .is 
in  bles.sed  and  unforgotten  days,  all  the  fragrance  of 
the  sorrow-riven  past,  all  the  portent  of  the  love  lorn 
future  mingling  in  baptism  upon  their  almost 
orphaned  heads. 

I  he  thin  white  fingers  to\-ed  with  the  girl's  lovely 
hair;  -  it's  so  m>irh  darker,"  she  half  wliispcrcd  as  if 
to  herself.  •'  but  it's  beautiful ;  your  face,  Jessie  ;  let 


1 


1 1 


502 


THE   U^EB    OF    TIME 


me  see  your  face,"  she  faltered,  as  the  iDaidcn  turned 
her  swimming  eyes  anew  upon  lier  mother.  "  Thank 
God,"  she  murmured,  "  oli,  let  me  say  it  while  I  can 
—He's  been  so  good  to  me.  He's  kept  us  all— all— 
so  graciously;  and  He's— always— found  the  path. 
It  was  never— really— dark ;  and  now  He's  made  it 
light  at  eventide,"  she  half  cried  with  a  sudden  gust 
of  strength  and  gladness.  "  And  I  know— I'v.,  sx-en 
—before  I  go;  it'll  make  heaven  beautiful,"  ...id  she 
sank  back,  faint  and  exhausted,  o-  her  pillow. 

The  devoted  doctor  and  the  fa.  .  ul  friend  had  both 
slipped  noiselessly  from  the  room.  They  knew  that 
love's  last  Sacrament  was  being  thus  dispensed,  the 
precious  wine  to  be  untasted  more  till  these  three 
should  drink  it  new  in  the  kingdom  of  God.  Jiut 
now  Miss  Adair,  her  love  impelling  her,  ventured 
timidly  back ;  she  came  gcntlj-  over,  ^()  gently  that 
she  was  unnoticed  b\  the  bending  children,  taking 
her  place  beside  Harvey.  She  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder  ;  his  ej-es  gave  but  a  flectiiig  spark  of  recog- 
nition as  they  fell  on  what  she  held  in  hcv  hand. 

"  I  thought  she'd  like  to  see  them,"  said  the  kindly 
woman  ;  "  she  couldn't  before,  you  know,"  and  as  she 
spoke  she  bended  above  the  bed,  a  look  of  ex- 
pectaticMi  on  her  face  as  she  held  Harvey's  hood, 
and  his  medal,  before  the  new-illumined  eyes.  The 
lamp's  dim  light  fell  athwart  them  and  they  gleamed 
an  instant  as  if  in  conscious  pride. 
I  The  d)-ing  woman  saw  them;  her  eyes  rested  a 
^moment  on  them  both,  and  the  kindly  purposed 
neighbour  made  as  if  to  put  them  in  her  hands.     But 


'■4" 


"The  FAIR  SIVEET  MORN  /ilVAKES"    30? 

the  purpose  died  belcrc  she  incvcd—tur  the  mother's 
ghmce  s!iou-ed  her  that  tlie.c  thin-s  were  to  lier  now 
but  as  the  dust.  The  time  was  short ;  the  ni-ht  was 
coming  fast ;  the  dyin-  eyes,  so  strangely  h-htened 
tor  this  parting  joy.  were  consecrated  to  one  puri)ose 
and  to  that  alone— and  the  gleaming  gold  and  the  Hash- 
ing fahnc  lay  unnoticed  on  the  bed.  the  mother's  face 
still  turned  upon  her  children's  in  yearning  eagerness, 
as  though  she  must  prepare  against  the  yeJrs  that 
would  hide  them  from  her  sight  till  the  endless  day 
should  give  them  back  to  her  undimmed  gaze  for- 
ever. 

Few  were  the  words  that  were  spoken  now.  The 
stream  of  peace  flowed  silently;  rnd  the  reunited 
three  held  their  high  carnival  of  love— and  of  stran-c 
sorrow-clouded  joy-the  long  tragedy  of  their  united 
hvcs  breaking  at  last  into  the  blessedness  of  resigna- 
tion, resignation  -,glow  with  hope.  For  this  pledgt'  of 
God's  faithfuln.  .s  was  hailed  by  every  heart ;  and 
they  felt,  though  no  lip  voiced  the  great  assurance 
that  life's  long  shadows  would  at  last  be  lost  in  love's' 
unclouded  day. 

Into  a  gentle,  untroubled  slumber  their  mother  fell 
at  length.  When  she  awaked,  her  eyes  leaped  anew, 
fastening  themselves  upon  her  children  as  though  the 
precious  gift  had  been  bestowed  afresh. 

"  1  had  a  lovely— dream."  she  faltered.  "  I  saw 
you-both— little  children- hke  you  used  to  be. 
And  I  thought  your  father— was— there  too.  It 
was  heaven,"  she  went  on.  her  face  brightoninc-  wit!. 
a  lar-off  light;  ••  I  thought  he  was  therc-and  all  the 


>04 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


11^ 

I 


'  I 


— the  struggle— was  peist  and  gone.     You  asked 

me— once,  dear — if  he  was  there,"  her  sweet  smile 
turned  on  Harvey.  "Not  yet,  dear— not  yet- 
but "     She  motioned  him  to  bend  down  beside 

her.  "  Your  father's  living,"  she  whispered  low,  her 
shining  eyes  fixed  on  his.  Jessie  retreated,  not 
knowing  why,  but  the  wonderful  light  told  her  that 
it   was   a   great   moment  between   mother  and  son. 

"  He's   living,"  the   awed    voice  whispered    again 

"but  he's  afra-J.  He'll  come  back— some  day- 
Harvey.  And  you— you— mr-^  forgive  him.  He'll 
tell  you.  And  love  him;  teii  him— I'm— waiting 
there.     You  must  love  him— and  forgive  him— and 

bring  him "     Then  she  stopped,  breathless. 

The  wonderful  tidings  seemed  at  first  almost  more 
than  the  son  could  bear.  With  face  suffused  and  eyes 
aglow,  he  gazed  upon  his  mother.  Sudden!)  his  lips 
began  to  move ;  he  spoke  like  one  who  has  descried 
something  wonderful,  and  far  away. 

"  Ves,  mother,"  he  whispered  low,  "yes,  I'll  love 
him— I  love  him  now;  I'll  love  him— like  you  love 
him.  And  I'll  bring  him,  mother,  when  he  comes 
back  ;  I'll  bring  him — we'll  come  together.  I'll  tell 
him  what  you  said,"  he  cried,  forgetful  who  might 
hear,  "and  then  he'll  come— I  know  he'll  come,"  his 
face  ridiant  with  the  thought. 

"  And  Jessie,"  the  mother  murmured,  "  Jessie  too." 
"  Yes,  Jessie  too,"  he  answered ;  "  come,  Jessie- 
come,"  as   he  beckoned   to  her;   .she  moved  gently 
over  and  kneeled  with  him  beside  the  bed. 

The  day  had  broken.     And  the  glowing  herakl^ 


'•■The  FAIR  SH^EET  MORN  AlVAKES'     50^ 

of  the  approachinjr  sun  were  iiiakin.i;  beautiful  the 
path  before  him.  Hill  and  dale,  their  ..hinin- out- 
lines visible  in  the  distance,  were  clothed  in  ^^jlden 
glory;  the  opal  clouds  announced  the  coniin.L,^  of 
their  kinjj ;  the  fragrant  trees,  and  the  burstin-  buds, 
and  the  spreadin<i  blossoms,  and  the  kindlin',r''suard,' 
and  the  verdure-covered  fiekLi  c:;ave  back  the  far- 
flung  smile  of  light.  Like  a  bride  adorned  for  her 
husband,  all  stood  in  unconscious  beauty  as  far  as 
eye  could  reach. 

"Look,  mother,  look,"  Harvey  cried  suddenly, 
gently  lifting  the  dear  head  from  the  pillow  as  the' 
sanctity  of  the  scene  impelled  him.  "  Uh,  mother, 
you  can  see  them  all,"  rapture  and  sorre  .mg 

in  the  tone. 

The  far-seeing  eyes  turned  ^louly  toward,  ihe 
window,  rested  one  brief,  wonderful  moment  upon  the 
wonderful  sight,  then  turned  away  in  ineftlible  tender- 
ness and  longing,  fastening  themselves  again  where 
they  had  been  fixed  beh^re.  lor  love  is  a  mighty 
tyrant  and  the  proudest  kings  mu.,t  take  their  place 
as  vassals  in  his  train. 

An  in:,tant  later  the  dying  ej-es  seemed  to  leap  far 
beyond,  beautiful  wilh  rapture.  "Look,  louk,"  she 
cr;ed  a,,  though    the  others  were  the  blind,  "  lor.k,  oh 


lool 


'  her  voice  ringing  clear  willi  the  last  energy 
of  death  ;  "  it',,  lovelier  yonder—where  it's  always 
spring.  I),„i't  you  sec,  Harve\- ?  Jessie,  d<jn't  you 
•'^ce?  And  baby's  there,  Jes.,ie--Harvey,  the  babv's 
there— and  she's  beckoning;  look,  look,  it',  you- 
not  me— she's  calling.     Let  us  all  go,"  she  said,  the 


i 


^06 


THE   U/EB    OF    TIME 


voice  dropping  to  laintness  again,  the  eyes  turning 
again  upon  her  children  ;  "  let  us— all—go ;  it's  so- 
lovely  ;  and  we're— all— so  tired,"  as  the  dear  lips 
became  forever  still. 

And  the  rejoicing  sun  came  on,  the  riot  of  his  joy 
untempered,  no  badge  of  mourning  in  his  hand.  And 
he  greeted  the  motherless  with  unwonted  gladness  as 
he  filled  the  little  room  with  light,  kissing  the  silent 
face  as  though  he  would  wish  it  all  joy  of  the  well- 
won  rest.  For  he  knew,  he  knew  the  secret  of  it 
all.  Me  knew  Who  had  transfigured  hill  and  dale  and 
tree  and  flower  with  the  glance  of  love ;  he  knew  the 
source  of  all  life's  light  and  shade  ;  he  knew  the  after- 
ward of  God  ;  he  knew  Death's  other,  sweeter  name. 

But  the  motherless  made  no  response.  Still  they 
knelt,  one  on  each  side  of  the  unanswering  form  ;  and 
still,  tightly  clasped,  each  held  a  wasted  liand. 


^w '  ^:Mm 


XXVII 


A    BROT H EK   S    MASTERY 

IT  was  the  foUouinj^  "i.Liht,  the  last  nic^ht  of  ail. 
Harvey  lay  with  wide  stariii,t;  eyes  that  souijlit 
in  vain  to  pierce  the  darkness;  he  teit  it  ultc 
almost  a  sacrilege  to  sleep,  even  could  he  liave  dune 
so,  since  there  would  lie  never  more  beneath  the  Ion- 
familiar  roof  the  beloved  form  that  he  had  never 
known  absent  for  a  sin^^le  ni.i;ht.      lie  suddenl)-  real 

izcd  this — and  it  leaped  like  fire  in  his  hnv.n that  he 

had  never  spent  a  nic'ht  in  this,  the  onl\-  limnc  he 
had  ever  known,  without  the  dear  [presence  that  mu-t 
to-morrow  be  withdrawn.  lie  recalled  the  ennifort 
and  the  courage  this  had  given  him  in  many  a  trem- 
bling hour  when  the  nameless  fears  of  cliildh..<  d  gath- 
ered with  the  night;  how  sometimes,  tormented  by 
grotes(pic  shapes  and  grotesquer  fancie-.  hi-,  terror 
had  vani.^hcd  like  a  dream  when  he  had  heard  her 
cough,  or  sigh,  or  break  into  the  gentle  tones  he  had 
early  learned  were  between  her  soul  and  (iod.  He 
recalled,  too,  that  often,  startled  by  some  unreasoning 
fear,  he  would  call  out  loudly  in  the  night  ;  and  in  a 
moment  the  gentle  form  would  be  beside  hi>  bed,  her 
hand  upon  him  as  she  caressed  him  with  a  \\r)nl, 
which  word  became  the  lullaby  upon  whose  litpiid 
wave  he  was  borne  back  to  dreamland. 

All  this  could  never  be  again,  he  mused  in  bitter 

307 


■  'I 


508 


•THE   IVEB    OF    7 / M E 


loneliness.  As  he  dwelt  upon  it  the  thought  became 
ahnost  intolerable ;  and  suddenly  rising— for  he  had 
not  >et  undressed_he  began  noiselessly  to  descend 
the  stairs,  jnirposing  to  go  out  into  the  night ;  for 
there  is  JieaUng  in  the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight 
air.  J^ut  he  noticed,  to  his  surprise,  a  light  stealing 
Ironi  beneath  Jessie's  door;  instinctively  he  turned 
and  knocked,  his  lonely  heart  glad  of  the  sympathy 
he  would  not  seek  there  in  vain. 

She  bade  him  enter ;  obeying,  he  stood  amazed  as 
he  beheld  how  his  sister  was  employed.     For  Jessie 
was  full  dressed;  it  was  after  three  o'clock,  but  she 
had  made  no  preparations  for  retiring.     Instead,  she 
was  seated  on  the  bed,  the  room  bestrewed  with  ma- 
terials for  the  toil  that  was  engrossing  her.     Cloth,  of 
various  kinds  and  in  various  shapes,  separated  frag- 
ments yet  to  be  adjusted,  were  scattered  about ;  scis- 
sors and  spools  and  tape  measures  lay  upon  the  bed 
on  which  the  stooping  form  was  seated.     And  Jessie 
herself,  a  lamp  whose  oil  was  almost  exhausted  sta- 
tioned high  abcve  her,  was  sewing  away  as  if  for  life 
Itself;  worn  and  weary,  her  fingers  chafed  and  sore,  a 
burning  flush  on   either  cheek,  the  tired  shoulders 
stooped    and    bent,  she  was   pressing   o!i  with    her 
humble  toil. 

Me  uttered  a  quick  exclamation  of  surprise,  almost 
of  reproach,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  pitiful  face  and 
noticed  the  signs  of  drudgery  about  her.  His  first 
thought,  as  soon  as  he  could  collect  himself,  was  that 
his  sister  was  preparing  the  habiliments  of  mourning 
which  her    orphanhood  would   now   demand.     Bu^t 


A    BROTHER   S    MASTERY        joc, 

sad  and  striking'  contract,  ihc  fabric  over  wliicli  the 
fragile  form  was  bent  wa.-,  of  a  far  different  kind.  The 
material  was  of  the  richest  and  gayest  sort,  while 
yoke  of  rarest  embroidery,  and  costly  lace,  and  rich 
brocade,  spoke  of  wealth  and  fashion  far  beyond  their 
station. 

Jessie  started  as  if  detected  in  some  guiltful  work  ; 
she  even  made  one  swift  attempt  to  hide  the  handi- 
work that  lay  glistjning  across  her  knee. 

Harvey  closed  the  door ;  and  there  was  more  of 
sternness  in  his  voice  than  she  had  ever  heard  before. 
"  Jessie,"  he  said  gravely,  "  our  mother's  lying  dead 
downstairs." 

Alas  !  the  poor  girl  knew  it  well.  And  her  only 
answer  was  a  quick  and  copious  gush  of  tears.  It 
was  pitiful  to  see  her  snatch  the  delicate  creation  and 
toss  it  quickly  from  her,  lest  her  grief  should  stain  it ; 
then  she  rocked  gently  to  and  fro  in  a  gust  of  sor- 
row. 

"  Oh,  Harvey,"  she  sobbed,  "  you  didn't  mean  that, 
brother.     I  know  you  didn't  mean  it." 

He  was  still  in  the  dark.  Hut  the  anguish  of  this 
dear  heart,  so  loyal  to  him  throiigli  the  years,  was 
moro  than  he  could  stand.  With  one  ijuick  stride  he 
took  his  place  beside  her  on  the  bed,  his  arm  encir- 
cling her  ^vith  infinite  tenderness. 

"  Don't,  sister,"  he  said,  "don't  cry  like  that;  T 
dUln't  mean  it,  dear — only  I  didn't  understand — 1 
can't  understand." 

Slie  oifert  .  no  explanation,  sobbing  gently  a  few 
minutes  in  his  ariiis. 


5IO 


■THE    UEB    OF    TIME 


ill 


1 1 


I J 


i .       ^y 


n 


i 


iiii«i 


'•  1  couldn't   understand,  Jc.>.->ic,"  lie  buid  again   a 
little  later. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  she  said  at  last  without  rais- 
ing; her  he.id.  ••  1  didn't  wan'  to  sew,  with  mother 
lyin-  dead— but  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  really  couldn't. 
Its  not  lor  me,"  she  flun-  out  at  last,  the  long  hidden 
secret  suriendered  after  all.  ••  It's  not  for  me— and  I 
luid  to  get  It  done.  They  insisted  so— and  1  couldn't 
ahurd  to  lose  them — it's  for  a  party." 

The   blood  left  Harvey's  face,  then  surged  hotly 
back  to  it  again.     His  arms  fell  from  about  her  and 
he  sat  like  one  in  a  trance.      His  eyes  roved  dumbl)- 
about  the  room,  falling  here  and  there  upon  manj-  a 
tiling,  unnoticed   in   the   first   survey,  that  confirmed 
the  assurance  which   now  chilled  liim   to  the  heart. 
Then  his  eyes   turned   to   his   sister's   face.     It   was 
averted,  downcast— but  he  could  see,  what  he  had  but 
casually  remarked  before,  how  the  hand  of  toil  had 
Icl't  its  mark  upon  it.     Sweet  and  tender  and  unselfish, 
courage  and  resolution   in  every  line,  he  could  now 
read   the  whole  sad  story  ol   what  lay  behind.     The 
worn  fingers  were  interlocked   upon  her  lap,  and  he 
cuuld  see  how  near  the  blood  was  to  the  very  finger- 
tips.    And    as   he  rellected.  almost   madly,  upon  the 
dopcrate   necessity  that   had    held   her   to  her  work 
under  the  very  shadow  of  death,  and  driven  her  to  it 
though    with    a    broken    heart;    as    he    recalled   the 
ni\'sterious  sources  of  support  that  had  never  failed 
him  till  his  college  course  was  done,  a  Hood  of  sacred 
liglit  broke  upon  it  all— and  the  dear  form  before  him, 
ta-cd  and  wasted  as  it  was.  was  gentlv  drawn  to  his 


3 


^    BROTHERS   MASTiiRY        )u 

bosom  \.  itli  hands  of  icvcrciit  love,  his  murnuiriii'/ 
lips  pressed  hj,'htly  to  the  burninj^r  cheek,  in  i)eiiitciit 
dev'(Hion. 

"  Forgive  me,  sister,"  he  pleaded  in  a  falteiin^r 
voice,  "  oh,  forgive  me  ;  fur  I  did  not  know— I  did  not 
know." 

Her  answer  wa?  never  spoken  ;  but  it  came. 

It  was  not  long  till  he  had  learned,  and  from  her 
own  rek'cMnt  lips,  all  the  story  of  the  toil  and 
drudgery  that  had  been  tliii>  so  suddenly  reve.iled. 
But,  protest  as  he  might,  Jc.ie  w..s  re-nlved  tu  prexs 
on  with  the  work  she  had  been  eng.igcd  in. 

"  I'm  just  as  well  able  to  work  as  you  are,  Harvey," 
she  said  earnestly.  "  I  certainly  will  not  give  up  the 
store." 

"  Hut  I'm  sure  of  a  position  on  the  newspaper  I 
was  telling  you  about.  Jessie,"  Harve\-  ur;;cd— "  and 
I  can  at  lca>t  help  ;  I  can  always  spare  a  little,"  he 
assured  her  confidently,  ••  and  there's  one  thing  you 
must  do  before  very  long,"  he  went  on  eagerly; 
"you've  really  g,,t  to  onie  and  stay  a  while  with 
Miss  FarringaU.  She  practically  made  me  promise 
for  you.  Couldn't  somcbod\-  mind  the  store  while 
you're  awa\-  ?  " 

"I  su[)pose  so,"  Jessie  relented  enough  to  say  ; 
"  aIiss  Adair  could  manage  it  well  enough,  of  course. 
And  I'd  love  to  have  a  long  visit  with  you,  brother," 
she  added  fondly.  "  We're  all  alone  in  the  world 
now,  Harvey,"  her  voice  trembling  as  the  tired  eyes 
filled  to  overflowing—"  we  '"..en't  anybody  else  but 
each  utlier  now." 


\12 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


Harvey  looked  her  full  i„  the  face.     "  There',  an- 
other." he  sajd  in  a  whisper  after  a  Ion-  silence 

Jcss.e  started  violently ;  then  her  demand  for  mo    ■ 
hfjht  came  swift  and  ur<;ent. 

As  gently  as  he  could,  he  broke  to  her  the  wonder- 
ful news.      Ihc  girl  was  trcn)b!>ug  from  head  t-.  foot 

But  her  first  thought  seen>cd  to  be  of  her  mother' 
•'  And  that  was  .t."  she  cned  am>d  her  sobs;  -  that 
was  the  sorrow  mother  carried  about  with  her  all  the 
time.  Oh  Harvey.  I  always  knew  th  was  some- 
tiung-I  always  felt  mother  had  son.e  burden  she 
wouldn  t  let  us  share  with  her_I  always  felt  her  heart 
was  hungry  for  something  she  hoped  .he'd  -et  be- 
fore she  died.  Poor,  poor  mother-our  dear,  brave 
mother  ! 

Harvey  staunched  the  tide  of  grief  as  best  he 
could.  The.r  talk  ^-rncd,  a.d  naturally  enough,  o 
the  hope  of  their  .athers  return  some  da)-,  both 
promismg  the  fulfillment  of  their  mother's  dying  wish 

"We'll  do  just  as  mother  would  have  done  "  the 
gir  sa.d  m  sweet  simplicity ;  "  and  we'll  wait  to- 
gether, Harvey-we'll  watch  and  wait  together" 

"  And  you'll  help  me,  won't  you,  sister.^  "  Harvey 
asked  suddenly. 

"  '^^'h^t  to  do  ?  "  Jessie  said  wonderingly 
"Just  help  me."  he  answered,  his  voice  faltering. 
^\  .  you  promise  me  that,  Jessie  ;  you  don't  know 
yet  all  ,t  means-just  always  to  stick  to  me.  and  help 
me.  and  beheve  in  me-till_till  father  comes  ?  "  he 
concluded,  looking  steadfastly  into  her  wondering 
eyes.     '<  Come  with  me,  sister^-comc." 


«f? 


S!f 


^    BROTHER- S    MASTtRY         ,13 

The  darkno.  uas  at  it.  .Icq.ot.  the  lunp-U^^t  now 
flickered  intu  ^ri,,>,„,  .,,  i,^.  ,,,^^.  _^_^^j  j^,^,  j^_^^   ^^^^^^ 

from   the   ruorn.     (In.pi,,,^.  no„ele..!v.  th,-,-  f.v',    the 
only  hnn-  thin-s  abo,,t  i„c  hou.e,  c.ej.t  ^l  .u.  '^  ,rd 
to  the  chamber  of  the  dead.      The  do...-  creaked  u,th 
a  ^tran^e  uneartlily  ,ound  as  Harvey  pu>hed  ,t  open 
and     drew    his    ^.ter    in    bende    Inm.     (J„ua^d    he 
pressed,  his  arm  .till  suppurlin;;  her,  till  tiiey  ^to-.d 
above  the  silent    face.     It    lay  m    the   pump   ,,1   the 
n.aje.st.c  silence,  calmly  auaitm.^^  the  last  earthlv  dawn 
tnat  should  ever  break  uiK.n  it,  awaitin-  tha't  .low- 
approaching  iiour  when  the  la..t  nun  cment  sliould  be 
made,  the  last  tender  rudene.ss  which  would  lay  it 
sway.n-  slightly,  up.^n  the  waiting  bosum  .,1  the  earth 
—and  then  the  eternal  stillness  and  the  dark. 

They  stood  long,  no  sound  escaping  them,  above 
the  noble  face.  Its  dim  outlines  could  be  just  dis- 
cerned, cahn  and  stately  in  the  royal  mien  of  death 
1  hey  gazed  long  together.  •'  I  believe  .dies  near  us  " 
Harvey  whispered.  Then  he  drew  her  genth-  down 
till  their  faces  met  upon  the  unresponsive  face  of  their 
precious  dead. 

A  moment  later  he  led  her  tenderlv  away  She 
passed  first  through  the  door;  but  he  turned  and 
looked  back.  The  first  gray  streak  of  dawn  was 
stealing  towards  his  mother's  face  ;  and  he  saw  or 
thought  he  saw.  a  loo]  -r^ieeper  peace  upon  it  than 
had  ever  been  there  beio.  And  the  .still  hps  spoke 
their  benediction  and  breathed  their  love  upon  her 
children—all  the  more  her  own  because  ^h-  dwe't 
^vith  God.  '"     "' "" 


4 


T-^ 


XXVIII 
^    LIGHT    AT    MIDNIGHT 


^T 


HERE'S   something— but    I   don't  know 
.  what  It  is.     IJut  there's  something  ;  now 

J-  Jessie,  do  sit  up  straight,  and  breathe 
deep — y-ou  know  you  promised  me  you'd  breathe 
deep.  Ves,  there's  something  wrong  with  Harve}-." 
If  Jessie  was  not  breathing  very  deep  she  was 
breathing  very  fast.  Even  Grey  felt  a  nameless  agi- 
tation in  the  domestic  atmosphere,  looking  up  with 
cat-like  gravity  into  Miss  Farringall's  troubled  face. 
He  had  noticed,  doubtless,  that  the  mercurial  specta- 
cles had  been  ascending  and  descending  from  nose  to 
brow  and  from  brow  to  nose  with  significant  rapidity. 
Grey  did  not  look  at  Jessie— except  casually.  She 
had  not  been  sufficiently  long  in  the  house— and 
Grey  belonged  to  one  of  the  oldest  and  best-bred  of 
feline  families. 

Still  Jessie  did  not  speak.  But  her  hostess,  dear 
soul,  was  ever  equal  to  double  duty.  Like  most 
maiden  ladies.  Miss  .arringall  had  the  dialogue  gilt 
abundantly  developed;  nor  was  it  liable  to  perish 
through  disuse. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on  as  cheerfully  as  her  perplexity 
would  allow,  '<  he's  been  so  different  lately.  He 
comes  home  at  such  strange  hours,  for  him.  And 
sometimes  he  waits  a  long  time  at  the  door,  as  if  he 

3»4 


iiftv 


rtS^'-m 


jVi?';. 


^    LIGHT    at    MIDNIGHT  315 

diJ.i't  know  whether  to  come  in  or  not.  Of  course," 
.  le  added  reassuringly,  ■•  no  one  else  knows  bu:  lae; 
Harlow  never  hears  anytlnn-,  for  he's  dead  all  lu-ht 
—he  never  resurrects  till  half-past  seven,"  a  timid 
smile  lighting  her  face  a  moment.  "  l^ut  Harvey's 
different  every  way;  all  his  fun  and  merriment  are 
gone— and  he  seems  so  depressed  and  discouraged, 
as  if  he  was  being  beaten  in  some  fight  hi.^^life 
depended  on.  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it  at 
all." 

Jessie's  face  showed  white  in  the  gaslight;  and  her 
voice  was  far  from  stead)-.  "  Has  this  all  been  since 
—since  mother  died?"  >he  asked,  with  eyes  down- 
cast and  dim. 

"  Xot  altogether.  Xo.  not  at  all.  I  noticc.l  it  first, 
a  while  after  he  went  on  the  Wr-/^,.  1  Ic  was  so' 
proud  about  getting  on  the  staff- he  gnt  hold  of  a 
life  of  Horace  Greeley  in  the  library,  and  he  used  to 
joke  about  it  and  say  some  day  he'.i  >tand  there  too. 
Hi.t  it  began  one  morning— the  change,  I  mean— and 
lie's  never  been  the  same  since.  And  one  night,  just 
before  he  went  out,  he  brought  me  an  envelMjie  and 
asked  me  to  keep  it  till  he  came  l)ack.  I'm  not  very 
vire,  but  I  think  there  was  money  in  it— and  it  was 
J^ist  at  the  end  of  the  month  too,"  >he  addcii  Mg- 
"ificantly. 

•'  Doesn't  he  l;l;e  newspaper  life?"  eiKjuired  Jessie. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  think  he's  crazy  about  it.  \'oii  see, 
'vilh  his  education  and  his  gifts—he's  a  born  writer- 
there  isn't  any  kind  of  business  could  suit  him  better. 
I  think  he  has  his  own  time-;  with  .Mr.  Crothers— he's 


'If 


316 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


ii  ' 
1 


'h 


•m 


I  t 


the  city  editor,  a  kind  of  manager.     He's  a  strange 

man,  blusters  and  swears  a  good  deal,  I  think but 

he's  f^ot  a  good  heart,  frcii  what  I  can  hear.' 

"  Why  don't  you  have  a  confidential  talk  witli 
Harvey?"  suggested  Jessie.  "  He'd  tell  you  almost 
anything,  I'm  sure." 

"  I've  thought  of  that.  But  I  was  going  to  ask 
you  tl'e  very  same  thing.  Why  don't  you  ? — you're 
his  sister ." 

Jessie's  lip  quivered.  "  I  couldn't,"  she  said  hesi- 
tatingly; "I  couldn't  stand  it.  Besides,  you  know, 
I  ought  to  go  home  to-morrow.  Miss  Adair's  expect- 
ing me — and  she  says  the  store  always  prospers  better 
when  I'm  there  myself;  she's  had  charge  for  ten 
days  now,  while  I've  been  visiting  here." 

Miss  Farringall  sighed.  "  I  wish  I  could  coax  you 
out  of  that,"  she  said.  "  Why  will  you  go  away  so 
soon,  Jessie  ?  These  days  you've  been  here  have  been 
such  a  joy;  I'm  such  a  lonely  creature,"  she  adilcd 
glancing  out  at  the  silent,  dimly  lighted  hall.  "  There's 
hardly  ever  anybody  around  now  but  Barlow — and 
he's  a  ghost.  Of  course,  Dr.  Wallis  comes  when  1 
send  for  him — but  we  always  quarrel.  Then,  of 
course,  the  rector  comes  every  little  while— but  he's 
a  kind  of  a  prayer-book  with  clothes  on  ;  he  gets  sol- 
emncr  ever)-  i!ay.  What  I'm  getting  to  hate  about 
him,"  ^he  went  on,  vehemently,  "  is  that  he  has  liis 
mind  made  up  to  be  solemn,  and  he's  not  meant  for 
it— red-Iieaded  men  with  freckles  never  arc,"  she  af- 
firmed decisive!}'.  "  But  you  and  Harvey,  )-ou  ahiiost 
seem,  Jc^^ie— you  might  have  been  my  own  cliildrcn, 


'Ir  J: 


A--.-':',. 


W    LIGHT    at    MIDNIGHT  517 

1  think  sometimes,"  a  queer  little  tremor  ux  the  voice, 
the  withered  cheek  tlubhin.^'  .suddenly,  liut  Je.-.ie  did 
not  remark  the  .stran-e  tenderness  of  the  -iance  .he 
cast  towards  the  trea.-,ure-hKiin-  desk  m  tiie  coiner. 

"  Some  day  1  want  to  tell  you " 

But  her   voice   suddenly   died    away  in   >ileiu:e  as 
both  women  turned  their  e\-es  ca-erl>-  toward,  the 
door.      I<or  they  could  see  the  approJchm-  k^vm  of 
the  subject  of  their  conversation.     And  it  needed  but 
a  glance  to  confirm  the  opinion  Miss  Farrin-al!  had 
already    expressed.      Harvey    uas    makin-    hi.    uay 
heavily  up  the  stairs,  his  step   slow  and   uncertain. 
his    whole    bearing    significant    of    deleat.     As    he 
pcissed  the  door  a  faint  plaintive  smile  piayed  upon 
the  face  that  was   turned  a   moment  on  the  familiar 
forms  within  ;  the  face  was  haggard  and  pale,  the  eyes 
heavy  nd  slightly  bloodshot,  the  expression  sad  and 
despondent.     Yet  the  old  chivalrous  light  was  there  • 
clouded  it  was  as  if  by  shame  and  self-reproach,  yet 
with  native  pride  and  honour  flashing  through  it  all 
as  though  the  fires  of  a  stern  and  unceasing  conflict 
were  glowing  far  within. 

Jessie  started  as  if  to  greet  him.  ]^ut  some- 
thing checked  her—she  would  wait  till  they  were 
alone. 

Entering  his  room  and  pausing  onlv  to  remove  his 
boots,  Harvey  flung  himself  with  a  stifled  groan  upon 
the  bed.  How  long  he  had  lain  there  before  interrup- 
tion came,  he  neither  knew  nor  cared.  For  the  un- 
closed eyes  were  staring  nut  into  the  t!;irk.",ess.  liis 
brain  half-maddened  with  its  activity  of  pain.     Nearly 


Il 


318 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


If.  i-j  . 


li: 


f'  4! 


J 

1    \ 

f 

■11 

^■1 

tr 

everything;  that  concerned  his  entire  life  seemed  to 
float  bclore  him  as  his  hot  eyes  ransacked  the  pro- 
ductive dark.  Childhood  days,  with  their  deep  pov- 
erty and  their  deeper  wealtii ;  the  light  and  music  of 
their  darkened,  sorrow-shaded  home ;  the  pkiinti\e 
enterprise  of  their  little  store ;  the  friends  and  play- 
mates of  those  early  days — and  one  friend,  if  play- 
mate nc\-cY ;  the  broadened  life  of  college,  and  all  his 
di.^C(n'e'-y  of  himself,  his  powers,  his  possibilities,  his 
perils  ;  the  one  epoch-making  night  of  life,  its  light 
above  the  brightness  o'"  the  sun — his  burning  face  hid 
itself  in  the  pillow,  his  hands  tight  clenched  as  those 
halt -withered  flowers  in  Madeline's  hand  rose  before 
him,  his  hopes  more  faded  now  than  they.  Then 
came  the  holy  scene  that  had  folKnvcd  fast,  so  won- 
derfully vivid  now— for  in  the  dark  he  could  see  his 
mother's  d}ing  face  with  strange  distinctness,  the  dear 
eyes  open  wide  and  filled  with  tender  light  as  they 
turned  upon  her  son,  the  thin  liands  outstretched  as 
if  to  call  the  tired  one  to  the  comfort  of  her  love. 

The  glow  of  filial  passion  lingered  but  a  moment 
on  the  haggard  face.  I'or  other  nicnories  followed 
fast.  I  low  he  had  bidden  farewell  to  Jessie,  return- 
ing to  the  city  wit'.i  high  resolve  to  snatch  nobler 
gains  than  the  poor  laurels  her  secret  heroism  had 
enabled  him  to  win— his  hood  and  medal  flitted  for 
a  moment  through  his  thought,  only  to  be  cast  aside 
as  paltry  baubles,  garish  trifles,  with  their  dying 
sheen  ;  how,  later,  he  had  secured  a  worthy  place  on 
the  news  staff  of  one  of  the  leading  dailies  of  the  city, 
his  heart  high  with  hoj-e  for  th.e  career  that  should 


*■*■%.. 


A    LIGHT   at   MIDNIGHT  3,9 

auait  him;  how   his   gifts  and  h>.  opportunity  had 
conspired  to  confirm  the  liopc. 

Clouds  and  darkness  were  about  the  remainder  of 
his  reverie.     But  part  of  it  had  to  do  uitii  lus  liour 
of  joy  and  triumph.     He  felt  again  the  jubilance,  the 
separate  sort  of  thrill,  that  had  possessed  hun  when 
the  great "  scoop  "  had  been  accomplished-tu  use  the 
vivid  metaphor  that  journalists  employ.     And  he  re- 
called the  annual  banquet-he  could  see  many  of  the 
faces  tnrough  the  dark-at  which  his  own  name  had 
been  called  aloud,  actually  requested  as  he  had  been  to 
propose  the  toast  to  the  paper  it  was  his  prio.  to  serve 
Ihen    cariie    the   brief,  fatal  struggle  as  the  glasses 
were  htted  high.     1  le  grou  d  his  teeth  as  he  remem- 
bered Ohver-onc.  friend  ar.d  chum,  now  fiend  and 
enemy  ;  and  Harvey's  thought  of  him  was  lurid  with 
a  Kind  of  irrational  hate-for  Oliver  had  spurred  and 
stung  h.m  to  his  fall  with  one  or  two  quick  sentences 
hat  seemed  cogent  enough  at  the  time ;  the  appeal 
had  been  to  shame,  and  to  what  was  due  the  concern 
hat  had  honoured  him.  and  to  other  things  of  that 
k.nd  ;  m  any  case,  it  had  all  been  like  lashing  a  ho^se 
that  hesitates  before  a  hurdle.     And  he  had  leaped 
't-oh.  God.  he  thought  to   himself,  this  cad  against 
Y^    mother!     He    had    leaped    it.      And    then    the 
slumoering    passion    that   had   sprung  anew   to   life 
within   him-not  passion  perhaps,  nor  yet  appetite 
either— but  a  kind  of  personal  devil  that  had  tangled 
'ts  will  all  up  with  his  own.  and  had  seemed  to  lau-h 
at  his  feeble  struggling,  and  to  exult  like  one  who  I,ad 
won  again  an  unforgotten  victory, running  not  in  fiend- 


h 


I 


I   l» 


320 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


^Hii 


ish  glee  since  his  prowess  had  prevailed  once  more. 
Harvey  held  his  hands  to  his  burning  brow  as  he  re- 
called tlie  pitiful  resistance  that  had  followed;  he 
could  feel  the  ever-tightening  grasp  again,  like  the 
relentless  coils  of  the  sea-monsters  he  had  read  about 
so  often  ;  he  recalled  how  his  soul  had  fluttered  its 
poor  protest,  like   some   helpless   bird,  against  this 

cruel  hand  that  was  bound  to  have  its  will  with  it 

and  how  struggle  and  promise  and  pledge  and  prayer 
had  all  seemed  to  be  in  vain. 

He  thought,  too,  but  only  for  a  moment — he  could 
not,  would  not  longer  dwell  upon  it— of  the  shameful 
peace  he  had  found  at  last ;  the  peace  of  the  van- 
quished ;  such  peace  as  servile  souls  enjoy,  for  it  can 
be  purchased  cheap — and  the  evil  memory  of  it  all 
surged  over  him  like  hissing  waves.  Nearly  a  week 
had  followed,  such  a  week  as  any  mother,  bending 
above  the  cradle  of  her  ciiild,  might  pray  God  to  — 

Rut  this  was  like  groping  in  a  morgue — and  it 
must  stop.  He  rose  half  erect  from  his  bed,  shaking 
himself  like  one  who  tries  to  clamber  back  from  the 
slough  of  evil  dreams.  Just  at  tb.is  moment  a  knock 
came  t.  >  the  door  ;  his  soul  leaped  towards  the  sound — 
it  was  a  human  touch  at  least,  thank  God,  and  he 
needeJ  some  such  Blucher  fur  such  a  Waterloo. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said  huskily,  lest  reinforcement  of 
any  sort  whatever  might  escape. 

And  she  came.  Without  a  word,  but  her  whole 
being  fragrant  of  sympathy  and  love,  she  moved  un- 
hesitatingly towards  the  bed.  .She  raught,  as  she 
came  nearer,  the  fateful  fumes.     And  she  knew the 


A    LIGHT    at    M I ')  S I G  H  T  ;2i 

most  innocent  arc  the  mo.t  sensitive  to  the  breath  of 
sm-but  lier  heart  only  melted  nith  a  tenderer  com- 
passion, her  arms  outstretclied  in  yearnin^r  takin- 
the  staluart  frame  into  u-Jiat  .eenied  U>  lum  like  the 
very  ^'uardianship  of  God. 

'•  Uh.  Harve)-,"  the  v.mcc  thrillin-  with  the  melody 
of  love  ;  "  oh.  my  brother." 

He  clung  closer  to  her.  without  speaking. 

"Tell    mc,    Harvey—won't  you    tell   mc}"       Ik- 
could  feel  the  care-wrung  bosom  heaving. 

Still  no  word. 

"  We've  never  had  any  secrets,  brotlier— won't  you 
tell  me,  Harvey?" 

"  Vou  know,"  after  a  long  pause. 

Still  silence.     Why  did  .he  breathe  so  fast  ? 

"  Don't  you  know,  Jessie  ?  " 

Silence  long-- Ves,  I   know,"  she  said,  "and   I 
never  loved  you  as  I  love  yo^.  now." 

Then  the  flood-gates  were  rolled  back  and  the  tide 
biu-t  forth.     Oh,  the  luxury  of  it ;  the  sweetness  of 
>t-to  teel.  na)',  to  know,  that  there  was  one  life  that 
clung  to  lum,  trusted  him,  loved  hmi,  through  all  the 
uaste  and  shame  !     And  the  blessed  relief  it  gave  ;  to 
tcl!   It  all,  keeping  nothing  back,  blaming  no" other— 
"ot    even    Oliver-breathing    out    the   storv   of   the 
struggle  and  the  overthrow  and  the  humiliation  and 
the  anguish.     And  in  tiiat  hour    Hoi)e,  long  absent 
and  aloof,  came  back  and  nestled  in  his  heart  again 
On  he  went,  the  story  long  and  intimate  and  awful 
coming   rioscr   and   closer  by   manv   and  circuitous 
routes  to  the  very  sou!  of  things,  hovering  about  the 


^22 


THE    WEB    OF   TIME 


m 

'Iff 


iliNiliM 


•if  I 


Name  he  almost  dreaded  now  to  s^  eak,  yet  yearned 
with  a  great  longing  to  pronounce ;  his  soul  was  cry- 
ing out  for  all  that  was  behind  his  mother's  name,  the 
comfort  and  sympathy  and  power  which  he  felt,  dimly 
but  unconquerably,  could  not  be  stifled  in  a  distant 
grave. 

'•  Do  you  think  she  knows  ?  "  he  asked  at  last,  in  a 
tone  so  low  that  even  Jessie  could  scarcely  hear. 

They  could  catch  the  sound  of  the  wind  upon  the 
grass  as  they  waited,  both  waited.  "  Yes,"  as  she 
trembled  closer,  "  yes,  thank  God." 

He  started  so  suddenly  as  to  frighten  her.  The 
conflict-riven  face  peered  into  hers  through  the  dark. 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked  sternly.    "  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  knows,"  the  calm  voice  answered. 
"  I'm  sure  God  knows — and  it  makes  it  easier." 

He  held  her  out  at  arm's  length,  still  staring  at  her 
through  the  gloom.  "  What  ? — I  thought  sorrows 
\7ere  all  past  and  over — for  her,"  the  words  coming 
as  a  bitter  questioning. 

Jessie's  face,  serene  with  such  composure  as  only 
sorrow  gives,  was  held  close  to  his  own.  "  We  can- 
not tell,"  she  whispered  low ;"  that  is  between  her 
and  God — they  both  know." 

He  struggled  silently  with  the  deep  meaning  of 
her  words. 

"  You  see,"  sweet  girlishness  in  the  voice  again, 
"you  :;ee,  Harvey,  they  know  what's  farther  on — oh, 
brother,  brother  dear,  it'll  be  better  yet,"  her  voice 
breaking  now  with  an  emotion  she  could  control  no 
longer  ;  "  it  won't  alwa}'s  be  like  this,  Harvey— you 


A    LIGHT   at    MIDNIGHT  32? 

won't  do  it  any  more,  will  you,  brother?  "  sobbing'  as 
she  buried  lier  face  beside  his  own.     "  Wove  had  so 
much  trouble,  Harvey— the  joy's  only  been  the  mo- 
ments, and  the   sorrow's  been  th.-  years— and  uc  <;ot 
mother  safe  home,"    the   quivering   voice    went   on, 
"  and  I  thought  we'd  follow  on  together—and— soniJ 
day — we'd   find   our  father.     And  you  won't  make 
it  all  dark  again,  will  you,  Harvey?     You'll  fight- 
and  I'll  fight— we'll  fight  it  out  together,  1  larvey.    It 
seems  nothing   now,  what  we  had  before— I  mean,  it 
doesn't  seem  a  bit  hard  just  to  be  poor— if  we  can 
only  keep  each  other,  Harvey,"  and  the  poor  trem- 
bling  form,  so   long   buffeted  by   life's  rude  billows, 
clung  to  the  only  shelter  left  her,  her  soul  outbreath- 
ing  its  passionate  appeal. 

There  was  more  of  silence  than  of  speech  while 
they  waited  long  together.  He  could  feel  the  beat- 
ing of  the  brave  and  trustful  heart  beside  his  own  ; 
this  seemed  to  bring  him  calm  and  courage.  In  a 
mysterious  way,  she  seemed  to  link  his  wounded  life 
anew  to  all  the  sacred  past,  all  the  unstained  days,  all 
the  conflict  for  which  he  had  had  strength  and  to 
spare,  all  the  holy  memories  that  had  drifted  so  far 
from  him  now,  a  yawning  gulf  between. 

"Won't  you  come  home  with  me,  Harvey?"  she 
said  at  length. 
"  Why  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  would  help  us  both.  I  was  go- 
ing to  ask  you  to  come  anyhow— for  one  thing,  I 
wanted  you  to  help  Mr.  Borland,"  slie  added  quickly, 
glad  of  the  fitting  plea.     "  He's  going  to  run  for 


/24 


THE    IV ER    OF    TIME 


:J-- 


l! 


?       li 


ili 


t| 

lit 

i^i 

H^  1 

HH 

ISSk  1 

ffilHl 

^Hj:       1 

i^m 

hI  i 

lips 

^H  1 

ilk 

W  J 

mayor,  you   know — and  I  thought  you'd  Hkc  to  do 
what  you  can." 

Harv'cy  smiled.  "  I  guess  my  own  contest  will  give 
me  enough  to  do/'  he  said  rather  bitterly.  "  It  was 
good  of  you  to  a.-,k  me,  Jessie— but  I'll  stay  on  my 
own  battlefield,"  his  lips  tightly  shut. 

A  long  silence  reigned  again.  "  Look,"  he  cried 
-suddenly,  "  it's  getting  light." 

Jessie  turned  and  looked.  And  the  wondrous 
miracle  crept  on  its  mystic  way ;  healing,  refreshing, 
soothing,  rich  with  heavenly  promise  and  aglow  with 
heavenly  hope,  telling  its  great  story  and  bidding 
every  benighted  heart  behold  the  handiwork  of  God, 
the  silent  metaphor  was  uttering  forth  the  lesson  of 
the  returning  day.  For  the  new  heaven  and  the 
new  earth  were  appearing,  fresh  with  unspotted 
beauty,  recurring  witnesses  to  the  regenerating 
power  of  the  All-sanguine  One. 

"  It's  getting  light,"  she  echoed  dreamily.  "  Do 
you  remember  that  line,  Harvey,  moth  ed  to  love 
so  much?" 

'•  No;  what  hne?" 

"It's  a  hymn  line,"  she  answered  softly.  «"  The 
dawn  of  heaven  breaks  '—I'm  sure  she  sees  this,  too. 
Look  at  the  clouds  yonder,  all  gold  and  purple— it's 
going  to  be  a  lovely  day." 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  new  day,"  he  said,  gazing  long 
in  silence  at  the  distant  fount  of  light. 


saw.  ^<;.:mf  y^s^^^TfPTOPWier" 


i%i,      >  vMj.    . .'.M  <.l  .' . 


*-«■ 


h 


XXIX 
HOIV  T>/ll^lT)  Sli-HPT   THE  PIELT) 


G 


O  and  wash  your  h<inds,  Madeline,  betore 
you  hx  your  fatlier's  tie.  I  little  thouf^ht 
my  daufjhter  would  ever  come  to  this— till- 
ing those  wretched  kerosene  lamps  ;  it's  bad  enouLjh  to 
have  to  come  down  to  lamps,  without  having'  to  fill 
them,"  and  Mrs.  Borland  si^died  the  sigh  of  the  de- 
frauded and  oppressed. 

"  Don't  worry  about  me,  mother  ;  if  you  (jnly  knew 
how  much  better  a  girl's  complexion  shows  with  them 
than  with  the  gas,  you  wouldn't  abuse  them  so.  All 
right,  father.  I'll  pu';  the  finishing  touches  on  v.. a  m 
a  minute— what  did  you  say  \\\  »:he  liour  f -r  the 
meeting?  I  wish  I  could  go— one  of  the  hardest 
things  about  being  a  girl  is  that  you  can't  go  to  po- 
litical meetings,"  and  Madehne's  merry  face  showed 
how  seriously  she  regarded  the  handicap. 

"Them  lamps  is  all  ric;ht,  mother— they  come  of 
good  old  stock,"  and  D.ivid  regarded  a'  tail,  um- 
brageous one  with  something  very  like  affecti.-ii; 
"that  there  one  was  the  hi-t  light  that  shincd  ..„  my 
father's  face."  he  added  reminiscent!)-,  "an'  I'm  autul 
glad  we  kept  it.  The  :r.cetin'<  at  half-past  eight, 
Madeline.  An'  don't  feel  bad  'cau-e  you  can't  go  — 
us  politicians  ha^  our  own  troubles,"  he  continue/1 
with  mock  gravity  ;  "  it  was  this  kind  o'  thing  killed 

3^5 


II 


I! 


■-fill 


■ 


iiaiiiigi 


326 


THE    IVEB    OF    7IME 


Daniel  Webster — an'  I'm  not  fcclin"  terrible  peart 
myself.  But  I'm  ^,'0111'  to  wear  my  Sunday  clioker," 
he  concluded  cheerluily  enou^'h,  lidding  hi^  tic  out 
t<j  Madeline,  the  dimpled  hands  now  ready  tor  the 
important  dut}-. 

"  Tic  it  carefully,  Madeline— if  your  father's  going  to 
resign,  he  should  look  his  b^-t  when  he's  doing  it,"  and 
Mrs.  Borland  .Nurveyed  the  operation  with  a  critical  eye. 
"  I'll  warrant  you  Mr.  Craig  11  be  dressed  like  a  lord." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  resign,  mother — I'm  only  g(jin'  to 
withdraw,"  David  corrected  gravel)-.  "  There's  all 
the  difference  in  the  world  between  rcsignin'  an' 
withdrawn)'  ;  any  one  can  ."esign,  but  it  take.>  a  terri- 
ble smart  man  to  withdraw.  \'ou've  got  to  be  a 
])olitician,  like  me,  afore  you  know  what  a  terrible 
ditference  there  is  between  words  like  them  ;  can't  be 
too  careful,  when  you're  a  politician — f(jr  your  coun- 
try's sake,  you  know.     No,  mother — no,  you  don't 

I  ain'    goin'  to  wear  that  long  black  coat." 

"  Oh,  father."  began  Madeline. 

"  But,  David,"  his  wife  remonstrated,  interrupting, 
"  remember  you're  going  to  make  a  speech— and 
when  would  you  wear  it,  if  not  to-night?  I'm  sure 
.Mr.  Craig'll  have  on  the  best  coat  he's  g<jt— and  that 
tweed'-  getting  so  shabby." 

"  I  won't  go  back  on  it  when  it's  gettin'  old  an' 
seedy,"  David  retorted  vigorous!}- ;  "I  know  v.  hat 
that   feels   like   m\self.     It  stuck  to  nic  when  I  seen 

better   (la\%,  an'    I'm    not   goin'   to   desert   it   now I 

ain't  that  kind  of  a  man.      An'  if  Craig  w;ints  to  dress 
n]3  like  nn   undertaker,  tliat's  his  funeral.      Besides,  a 


"  I, 


HOIV  DAyiD  SU'EPT  The  FItLD        3^7 

fellow's  ideas  comes  ca>ier  in  an  okl  coat — an  orator's 
got  to  consider  all  ^hcm  ihin.L;-,  you  know.  Con- 
found this  dickie,  it  wun't  sta\-  tlown — I  bclicvt; 
Madeline  put  'east  in  it,"  .  ,  he  sniute  hi'^  .>uellin<' 
bosom,  bidding  it  subside. 

"I'm  sorry  you're  not  i^'^i'ik'  to  staml,  David;  I 
believe  you'd  be  elected  if  )-ou'd  only  run.  1  aluays 
hoped  you'd  be  the  fir>t  mayor  of  Glenallen  — let  me 
just  brush  that  coat  before  you  j^o."  and  .Mrs.  Bor- 
land fell  upon  it  with  rii^iit  L^'ood-will. 

"  Words  is  funny  tluiii;-,'  mused  IXivkI,  as  he  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  turried  ihis  way  and  that  for  the 
operation;  "'specially  witli  orator^  an'  politician,. 
If  a  fellow  stand-,  th.it  meaiis  Ik'-  ruunin' — don't 
scrape  my  neck  like  that,  mother,"  duckiu;^-  eva-ively 
as  he  spoke.  "It's  somethin'  like  v.  h.at  I  heard  a 
fellow  say  at  the  Horse  .Show;  he  says,  •  the  judges 
look  a  horse  all  over — tliem  felous  don't  over- 
look nothin','  say>  lie.  No.  I  ain't  goin'  to  land, 
mother;  nor  I  won't  run,  neither.  \"A  je-t  sit  il'wn. 
Vou  see,  a  fellow  that  livt--  in  a  cottage  this  -i/e, 
there  ain't  nothin'  else  for  him  to  do_not  imle--  he'- 
a  fool.  Don't  brush  my  hat  like  that,  mother;  yo'Tre 
skinnui'  it— what  did  it  ever  do  to  you  ?  Well,  .;->,  kI- 
bye,  ni'-ther;  I'm  a  candidate  now— !)ut  I'll  .)nl)- j.-t 
be  a  man  wiien  I  get  back.  I  won't  even  be  an 
orat  )r,  I  reckon.  Good-bye,  Madehne — wrap  that 
there  black  coat  up  in  them  camp-nre  balls,"  he  (h- 
rected,  nodding  towards  the  rejected  black. 

"I'm    going   with   you  as   far  as  the  gate,  father; 
you've  got  to  have  some  kuid  oi  a  send-off." 


i 


}28 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


i  a 


\  Si; 


ii 


"  That's  all  right,  daughter ;  welcome  the  comin', 
part  the  speedin'  guest,  as  the  old  proverb  says." 

"  Speed  the  parting  guest,  you  mean,  David,"  Mrs. 
Borland  amended  seriously. 

"  Same  thing,  an  hour  after  he's  gone,"  David  re- 
sponded cheerily ;  "  feed  hiiii'd  be  bctter'n  either  of 
em,  to  my  way  o'  thinkin',"  as  he  started  forth  on 
his  momentous  mission. 


Mrs.  Borland  was  not  far  astray  in  her  prediction. 
For  when  at  length  the  two  candidates — and  there 
were  but  two — ascended  the  platform  in  the  crowded 
hall,  David's  rival  was  resplendent  in  a  new  suit  of 
which  the  far-descending  coat  was  the  most  con- 
spicuous feature.  Mr.  Craig  had  fitting  notions  as  to 
what  became  the  prospective  mayor  of  a  town  which 
had  never  enjoyed  such  an  ornament  before. 

And  his  speech  was  almost  as  elongated  as  the 
garment  aforesaid,  largely  composed  of  complacent 
references  to  the  prosperity  the  town  had  enjoyed  as 
the  product  of  his  own.  Surreptitious  hints  to  the 
effect  that  on  /  the  commercially  successful  should 
aspire  to  municipal  honours  were  not  wanting.  "  It's 
a  poor  assurance  that  a  man  can  manage  public  af- 
fairs, if  he  can't  look  after  his  own  successfully,"  he 
said,  as  David  sat  meekly  listening ;  "  and,"  he  went 
on  in  a  sudden  burst  of  feeling,  hastening  to  the  con- 
clusion of  his  speech,  "  I  may,  I  think,  fairly  claim 
to  have  been  a  successful  man.  And  I  won't  deny 
that  I'm  proud  of  it.     But,  fellow  citizens,  nothing  in 


HOli^  DAyiD  SWEPT  The  FIELD       )2q 

all  this  world  could  give  mc  m)  cjrcat  pncic  as  to  be 
elected  tlic  first  chi(jf-nu<,n>tr,itc  ot  tlii^  ^rouiii'; 
town.  I've  known  .soniethiuL^  of  lile's  honours,"  ho 
declared  grandiloquent!)-,  "and  I've  !uiiiL;led  ^ome 
WiUi  the  great  ones  ot  the  earth  ;  at  least,"  hesitating 
a  little,  "  I  did  wiien  I  was  a  child.  And  ju>t  iiere 
I'll  tell  you  a  little  incident  thai  1  can  never  refer  to 
with>.ut  feeling  my  heart  beat  liigh  with  [jride."  (  Mr. 
Craig  had  no  little  fluency  as  a  public  speaker  u  hen 
he  discoursed  of  things  concerning  himself.)  ••  As 
many  of  you  know,  my  father  was  a  gentlem.m  of 
leisure — and  he  travelled  widely.  Well,  I  can  still 
recall  one  winter  we  spent  in  Spain— I  was  but  a 
child — but  I  can  remember  being  at  a  great  public 
meeting  in  ^Madrid.  Some  members  of  the  Royal 
family  were  there,"  he  declared,  as  he  paused  to 
see  the  effect  on  the  gaping  sons  of  toil,  "  and  I 
remember,  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  how,  when  the 
Infanta  was  going  down  the  aisle  and  I  was  standing 
gazing  up  into  her  face,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  my 
boyish  head  as  she  passed  me.  I'll  not  deny,  fellow 
citizens,  that  that  touch  has  been  sacred  to  me  ever 
since — but  I  say  to  the  working-men  before  me  to- 
night that  I  consider  it  a  greater  honour  to  hold  the 
horny  hand  of  the  working-man,  the  hands  that  will 
mark  the  ballots  that  shall  bring  me  the  crowning 
honour  of  my  life,"  and  the  candidate  gathered  up 
the  folds  of  his  spreading  coat  as  he  resumed  his  seat, 
smiling  benignly  down  upon  the  rather  unresponsive 
crowd. 

For  many  of  his  auditors  were  decidedly  in  the  dark 


■T  i 


i 


1  .'i 

1 


330 


THE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


as  to  the  source  of  this  honour  that  had  befallen  him 
in  ancient  Spain. 

"  What  kind  of  a  animal  was  that,  Tom,  that  tetched 
him  on  the  head?"  one  bronzed  toiler  asked  of  his 
companion  as  he  still  gazed,  bewildered  rather  on 
the  reclining  Mr.  Craig.  -  Did  he  say  a  elephant- 
sounded  summat  hke  that  anyhow,  didn't  it?  " 

"  No,  no."  the  other  answered,  a  little  impatiently  • 
"what  would  elephants  be  doin'  at  a  public  mcctin'  i^ 
He  said  'twas  a  infantum— I  heard  him  myself." 
"  What's  a  infantum  ?  "  the  first  persisted  earnestly 
"  Oh— well.     Well,  it's  a  kind  of  a  baby— only  it's 
feminine,"  he  explained  learnedly.     "  An'  I  think  it's 
gotsomethin'  to  do  wi'  the  cholcry— don't  talk  there's 
Mr.  Borland   gettin' up.     Hurrah,"  he  shouted,  join- 
ing in  the  general  chorus,  and  glad  of  this  very  op- 
portune escape. 

David   begin   very   haltingly.     Yet   he  could  not 
but  feel  the  cordiality  of  his  welcome  ;  and  his  glance 
at  first  rather  furtive  and  shy,  became  more  confident 
as  he  gradually  felt  the  ground  beneath  his  feet.     "  I 
ain't  much  used  to  public  speakin',"  he  started  hesi- 
tatingly ;  "  never  made  but  one  speech  like  this  be- 
fore.    They  were  a  little  obstreperous  when  I  began 
but    before    I    got   through    you    could    have— have 
heard    a    crowbar   drop."  he    affirmed,   to   the   dc- 
hght   of    his   audience.     "  I   can't   sling   it  off  like 
my  friend  Mr.   Craig,  here;  mebbe  it's  becau.se  I've 
not   moved  in   them  royal  circles,"  he   ventured  as 
soberly  as  he  could.     "  Though  I  think  I've  got  him 
beat  when  it  comes  to  rubbin'  noses  with  the  quality 


HOIV  DAyiD  SIVEPT  -Jhc  FIELD       331 

I've  done  a  little  in  that  line  m)-.-,elt_uhcn  I  was  a 
little  shaver,  too.     None   o'   thcni   ro\al    tulks   ever 
patted  me  on  the  head— but  I  threw  up  all  over  Abe 
J.incoln  once.     Old  Abe  used  to  stop  at  m>-  father's 
in  Peoria  when  he  was  r.         the  circuit,"  David  ex- 
l)lained   carefully;    -an'   once   he  picked  me  up— I 
was  jest  a  baby— an'  threw  nie  up  to  the  ceilin' ;  then 
I    done    the  same   when    I    came    down— too   soon 
after  dinner,  you  see,"  he  added,   his   words  lost  in 
the    mirth    that    stormed    about   him.     "But  other 
ways,  I^  ain't   what    you'd    call   a  successful   man.  I 
reckon,"  he  -  -ent  on,  the  quotation  obvious.     •<  I've 
always  been  kind  o'  scared,  ever  .ince  I  was  a  young 
fellow,  for  fear  I'd  be  too  successful— that  i..  the  way 
Nome  folks  reckon  success.      I   knew  a  terrible  suc- 
cessful man  in  Illinois  one  time— he  was  that  success- 
ful  that   he  got   richer  than    uiy  other  man  in  the 
county.     An'  he  g.jt  so  fond  o'  beia'  successful  that 
he  nearly  gave  up  eatin'— jest  to  be  more  successful. 
He  got  that  fond  of  it  that  by  and  by  he  wouldn't 
even  spend   the  money   for  gettin'  his  hair  cut  ;  he 
u.ed  to  soak  his  head,  in  the  winter,  an'  then  stand 
outside  till  it  froze  still— then  he'd  break  it  off.     He 
WIS  a  terrible  successful  man,  to  his  wa>-  o*  thinkin'," 
l^.ivi.i  went  on  gravel)-,  the  crowd   rocking  to  and 
fi"  111  a  spasm  of  delight.     "  So  I  think,  my  friends, 
Icl    better  jest   own    up    I've  been  a  failure'.     An'  I 
f'.'iik-   you,  more'n    I   can   say.  for  wantin'  me  to  be 
your  fust  mayor—but  I'm  goin'  to  sit  back  (juiet  an" 
give  some  better  man  the  job.     For  one  thing.  I'm 
k'ettin'   to   be  an  old  man— an"  that',  a  disease  that 


3}2 


■THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


don't  heal  much.  Besides,  I'll  have  enough  to  do  to 
make  a  livin'.  I  won't  deny  I  used  to  wake  up 
nights  an'  think  it'd  be  fine  to  be  the  first  boss  o'  the 

whole  town  ;  but  I  reckon  it  ain't  comin'  my  way 

it  ain't  intended  to  be  wove  into  my  web,  by  the 
looks   o'   things.      But   I    thank  you  for— for  your 
love,"  David  blurted  out,  vainly  searching  for  a  better 
word.     •'  An'  what  kind  o'  gives  me  a  lump  in  my 
throat,  is  the  way  I  see  how  the  men  that  used  to 
work  for  me  is  the  loyalest  to  me  now.     That's  ter.l- 
ble  rich  pay— an'  I  can  stand  here  to-night  an'  say, 
afore  God  an'  man,  that  I've  tried  to  be  more  a 
friend  than  a  boss.     Your  joys  has  been  my  joys,  an' 
your  sorrows  has  been  my  sorrows,"  his  voice  quiver- 
ing a  little  as  he  spoke  the  gracious  words ;  "  an'  I 
ain't  disgraced— if  I  did  get  beat  in  business.     This 
here's  far  sweeter  to  me  now  than  if  it'd  come  my 
way  when  I  was  livin'  in  the  big  house,  wadin'  round 
knee-deep  in  clover.     It's  when  a  fellow's  down  he 
loves  to  find  out  how  many  true  friends  he's  got;  any 
old  torn  umbrella's  just  as  good  as  a  five  dollar  one- 
till  the  rain's  peltin'  down  on  him — an'  then  he  knows 
the  difference.     So  I  can't  do  nothin'  but  thank  you 
all,  an'  tell  you  how  glad  you've  made  me.     I'll  be  all 
right,"  he  concluded  with  heroic  bearing,  "  I'll  get 
my  bite  an'  my  sup,  an'  I'll  go  down  to  m>-  rest  in 
peace  ;  an'  I'm  richer— far  richer  than  I  ever  thought. 
It's   friends   that   make  a   fellow   rich  ;   an'  I   intcnc! 
keepin'  them  as  long  as   I   live— an'  after,  too,"  he 
concluded,  turning   from  his  chair  to  add  the  words, 
electrical  in  their  effect 


i.-i 


HOH^  DAl^ID  SWEPT  The  FIELD        333 

Then  came  a  scene,  sucli  a  scene  as  gladdens  the 
heart  of  but  one  man  in  a  -eneration.  All  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  joined  in  the  storm  of  jirotest.  re- 
fusing to  permit  David  to  withdraw  his  name.  Many, 
mostly  toil-stained  working-men,  struggled  for  the' 
floor.  Testimonies  came  thick  and  fast,  volunteered 
with  glowing  ardour. 

"  He  never  used  to  pass  my  little  girl  on  the  street 
without  givin'  her  a  nickel  or  a  dime-most  always  a 
dime,"  a  burly  blacksmith  roared,  his  voice  as  power- 
ful as  his  muscle. 

"  Mr.  Borland  kept  me  on  when  times  was  hard,"  an 
old  man  proclaimed  in  a  squeaky  voice ;  "  he  kept 
me  mowin'  the  grass  four  times  a  week,  when  every- 
thin'  was  burnt  up  wi'  the  drooth." 

"  He  sent  my  little  boy  to  the  Children's  Hospital 
in  the  city."  another  informed  the  thrilhng  multitude; 
"an"  now  he  can  run  like  a  deer— it  was  hip^ 
disease." 

"  He  sat  up  two  nights  hand-runnin'  with  Jake 
Foley  when  he  had  ammonia  in  both  lungs,"  im- 
parted one  of  the  lustiest  of  David's  fonncT  work- 
men, '<  an'  the  next  day  they  found  ten  dollars  in  a 
sugar  jug;  an'  when  they  axed  him  if  he  done  it  he 
said  they  wanted  to  insult  him— said  it  was  the  same 
as  axin'  a  man  if  he'd  been  tastin".  Hut  we  ain't  all 
fools,"  concluded  the  witness,  his  indignant  eulogy 
cheered  to  the  echo. 

After  a  valiant  struggle  the  chairman  secured  or- 
der, Mr.  Craig  looking  on  with  the  expression  that 
children  wear  when  they  see  their  tiny  craft  being 


534 


THE   IVEB    OF   TIME 


1' 

til 


borne  out  to  sea.  The  noble  electors  demanded  a 
vote ;  which,  duly  taken,  voiced  the  overwhelming 
desire  that  David  should  be  their  man.  Whereupon 
Mr.  Craig,  not  slow  to  remark  the  signs  of  the  times, 
possessed  himself  of  a  very  imposing  hat  and  made  as 
if  to  leave  the  platform,  the  crowd  suddenly  subsiding 
as  it  became  evident  he  had  a  word  to  say  before  re- 
tiring. 

"  I'm  done  with  municipal  life  from  this  time  on," 
he  declared  hotly,  as  quiet  was  restored.  "  I'm  not 
going  to  enter  the  lists  with  a  man  that  has  proved 
— that  hasn't  proved — with  David  Borland,'  he  con- 
cluded, floundering.  "  If  the  town  can  do  without 
me,  I  guess  I  can  do  without  the  town." 

"  You'd  better  go  and  travel  abroad  in  them  for- 
eign parts,  an'  mebbe "  a  voice  from  the  audience 

began  to  advise. 

"  That's  mean,"  David  cried  above  the  returning 
din ;  "  that's  mean — sit  down,  .Mr.  Craig,"  turning 
with  a  grace  even  those  who  knew  him  best  would 
hardly  have  thought  he  could  command. 

"  I  withdraw,"  Mr.  Craig  shouted  hotly. 

"  But  don't  go  yet,"  David  pleaded  in  the  most  un- 
conventional voice.  "  I  don't  like  to  see  a  man  with- 
drawin'  that  way."  Somewhat  mollified,  Mr.  Craig 
resumed  his  seat. 

Loud  demands  for  a  speech  finally  brought  David 
to  his  feet  again.  "  Well,  friends,"  he  began,  "  I'm 
all  used  up.  I  never  expected  nothin'  like  this — an' 
I  don't  hardly  know  what  to  say.  But  I  can't — I 
jest  can't  refuse  now,"  he  said,  his  words  lost  in  a 


HOIV  DA^ID  SU/EP7  The  FIELD       333 

mighty  c-^eer.     "  I  didn't  know  you  all  felt  that  way 
-so  much.     An-  I  believe  I'm  gladder  for-lor  two 
people  that   ain't  here   tonight."  he-  .aid  in  a  low 
earnest  voice,   "  than    l„r  any  other  reason   in   the' 
world.     An-  ni_ni  take  it- -if  Mr.  Craig  here'll  help 
me, '  suddenly  turning  towards  his  rival  of  a  moment 
before.     "  He   knows  lots  more  about  them   things 
than  me,"  moving  over  to  where  he  sat,  "  an"  if  he'll 
promise  to  help,  wc'll-we'U  run  the  show  together." 
There  being  now  no  other  candidate,  thereturning- 
ofificer  declared  i\Ir.  Borland  the  f^rst  mayor ;  and  the 
vanquished,  yielding  to  the  great  soul  that  challenged 
him,  took  the  other's  hand  in  his. 


muniift^wv-ez. 


'.^ 'mar.^irg^w 


XXX 


A    JOURNALISTS    INJUNCTIONS 


I 


DON'T  believe  we'll  ever  find  him,  liarvcy. 
We  have  so  little  clue — and  almost  all  we  can 
do  is  wait."     Jessie  sighed  ;  her  life  had  had 
so  much  of  waiting. 

"  That's  the  hard  part  of  it,"  her  brother  answered, 
"  but  what  else  can  we  do ;  it  does  seem  hard  to 
think  one's  own  father  is  living  somewhere,  and  yet 
we  may  live  and  die  without  ever  seeing  him.  I've 
tried  all  the  poor  little  ways  I  can — but  they're  so 
ineffectual.  Yet  I  don't  think  there's  ever  a  day  my 
mind  doesn't  go  out  to  him.  Mother  said,  though — 
she  said  he'd  come  back  some  day." 

"What  did  she  mean?"  Jessie  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  snid  Harvey.  "  That  is,  I  don't 
know  just  what  was  in  her  mind.  And  she  told  mc 
about  his — his  weakness,"  the  brother's  face  flushing 
with  the  words.  "  And  if  I  ever  succeed  enough — ii 
I  ever  get  rich  enough,  I  mean— I'll  begin  a  search 
everywhere  for  him  ;  she  said  no  father  ever  loved  his 
children  more,"  and  Harvey's  eyes  were  very  wistful 
as  they  looked  into  his  sister's. 

Jessie  was  silent  a  while.  "  You're — you're  going 
to  succeed,  aren't  you,  brother?"  she  said,  timidly. 
«'  If  father  ever  does  come  back — he'll — he'll  find 
we've — conquered,  won't  he,  Harvey  ?  " 

336 


l'»   r 


A  JOURNALISTS  INJUNCTIONS        337 


I 


Harvey's  answer  was  very  slow  in  cumiIl^^  I'inally 
he  reached  out  and  took  liis  sifter's  haiul  ;  the  word? 
rang  hopefully. 

"  I  feel  somehow,  I  don't  know  why,  Jessie,  but 
I  feel  somehow  as  if  I  were  just  at  the  turning 
of  the  tide.  Nobody'll  ever  know  \hat  a  fear- 
ful fight  it's  been — but  1  don'l  think  I'll  nave  to  strug- 
gle like  this  much  longer.  It's  like  fighting  in  the 
waves  for  your  life — but  I  think  it's  nearlj-  over.  1 
don't  want  you  to  go  home  again  fnr  a  little.  Jessie." 

"What  do  you  mean,  I  larve}- ?  Do  you  mean 
anything  particular's  going  to  happen  ?" 

Fie  hesitated.  "  I  don't  know — but  I  think  so. 
I've  alwa}'s  had  a  feeling  toniormu  'd  he  a  better  day 
than  yesterday.  I've  always  felt  as  if  something  lay 
beyond  ;  and  when  I  reached  it — and  passed  it.  every- 
thing would  be  different  then." 

There  are  few  who  know  it — but  the  uncertainty  of 
life  is  life's  greatest  stimulus.  Ihat  i.^  the  sense  of 
further  possibilities,  unexpected  happenings,  evelop- 
ments  not  to  be  foreseen.  This  is  true  of  the  poor, 
the  enslaved,  the  broken-hearted  ;  it  is  no  less  true  of 
the  caressed  of  fortune  and  the  favourites  of  fate. 
The  veil  that  hi  •-■'orrou  '>  face  is  life's  chiefest 

source  of  zest,  not  excepting  loxc  it>elf.  .Men's  heart.-> 
would  break  if  they  couUl  descry  the  pkiin  beyond 
and  search  its  level  surface  to  the  end  ;  wherefore  the 
All-wise  has  broken  the  long  \\\\\  to  fragments,  every 
turn  in  the  road,  the  long,  winding  road,  a  well-spring 
of  hope  and  expectation.  The  most  dejected  heart, 
proclaim  its  hopelessness  as  it  may,  still  cherishes  a 


^38 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


secret  confidence  that  things  cannot  always  thus  re- 
main ;  downcast  and  tear-bedimmed,  those  eyes  are 
still  turned  towards  the  morrow,  or  the  morning,  or 
the  spring-time — for  by  such  different  symbols  God 
would  teach  us  how  ill  He  brooks  monotony. 

Especia'ly  is  this  true  of  one  who  struggles  with 
his  sin.  Beaten  again  and  again,  vows  turned  to 
shame  and  resolutions  to  reproach,  conscience  and 
will  trodden  under  foot  of  appetite,  the  wearied  war- 
rior still  trusts  that  to-morrow  will  turn  the  battle 
from  the  gate.  Something  will  turn  up  ;  if  he  could 
but  get  a  fresh  start,  or  if  he  could  escape  from  boon 
companions,  or  if  he  were  once  braced  up  a  bit,  or  if 
this  did  not  worry  and  that  beset — all  these  varied 
tones  does  Hope's  indomitable  voice  assume.  Sad 
and  pitiful  enough,  we  say  ;  and  we  smile  at  what  we 
call  the  weakness  of  por  humanity — but  it  all  bears 
witness  to  that  hopeful ':  ^^uish  which  is  bred  of  mani- 
fold temptations;  it  is  ae  earnest  expectation  of  the 
creatur  -  waiting  for  the  manifestation  of  the  sons  of 
God. 


"  Not  enough  snap  about  any  of  this  stuff,  I  tell 
you,  Simmons."  The  time  was  an  hour  and  a 
half  after  Harvey  had  bidden  Jessie,  again  Miss 
Farringall's  willing  guest,  good-bye,  and  gone  forth 
to  his  'vork  until  the  midnight.  The  words  were 
tho<;a  of  Mr.  Timothy  Crothers,  city  editor  and 
director  in  chief  of  the  JSIoruing  Argus.  Mr.  Croth- 
ers had  taken  off  his  collar  an  hour  before,  which 


■tt!iP""!F 


A  JOUKNALISTS  ISJUSCJIOSS         339 

was  silently  accc-ptcd  by  the  staff  as  a  stonn-si^iial 
of  the  must  accurate  kind.  Cold  let  it  be  -.vithoiit 
or  hot,  Mr.  Crothci>.'  haiictuni  soon  became  a  torrid 
region  when  once  he  had  removed  his  neck  apparel — 
and  iiarvcy  looked  up  with  more  of  ex-pectaliou  than 
surprise,  havin<;  already  witne>:.ed  the  dive-titiire. 

'•  It  makes  a  man  hot  under  the  collar,"  Mr.  Croth- 
ers  pursued  wrathily,  c;iving  a  pha:itoni  jerk  in  the 
neif^hbourhood  of  hi>  neok,  "  to  have  .-^tuff  like  this 
brou-ht  in  to  him;  it's  as  dry  as  Tre^bytenan  preach- 
ing," 

"  I.-,n't  it  true,  Mr.  Crothor-^  ?  "  I  larvey  a.-.ked, 
calmly  opcniir^  his  knife  and  applyin.;  it  to  an  ex- 
haii.-tcd  pencil.  "  That',-,  the  first  quality  fur  news, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Fir-t  qualities  be  hanc^cd,"  (juoth  Mr.  Crothers 
contem[)tuousIy.  "And  it  i-n't  new-  at  all — it's 
chlorof  irm.  Nothinc^'s  news  that  doesn't  make  i)eo- 
ple  sit  up  ;  you'll  never  make  a  newspaper  man  till 
you  learn  how  to  spice  thiii;_;s  u[) — lot^  ot  pepper, 
red  pepper  at  that.  A  p;i  icr  that  can't  make  'em 
snce/.e  will  ne\erearn  its  >alt." 

"  .\re  you  referriiiLj  >  the  report  '.  '.\  fote  of  the 
f^amc  with  the  Scot  a  bowlers,  Mr.  Cn.thers?" 
Harve)-  enquired,  no' Jinf;  towartls  a  coni"u.-ed  cluster 
of  well  -crawled  p."  ,os  on  the  table. 

"  Ve-,  mo>tIy  that ;  \'ou  don't  malce  tlv  thinf^  bite. 
It's  nearly  all  about  how  they  pla>ed — and  we  don't 
get  twenty  bowlers  here  from  Scotlan<l  eveiy  year." 

"About  how  they  played!"  echoed  llarvcy. 
"What  else  is  there?" 


340 


•THE    lyEB    OF    TIME 


f ' 


"  Everything  else.     Nobody  cares  a  fi.c;  about  how 

they  played.     Serve  up  i^omelhii.  ,  about  the  Johnnies 

thcriselves — .something  real  interesting.     That's  the 

wV   '        ling.     Now,  for  instance,  look    it  -t-me  ot 

oiher  stuff,"  and  Mr.  L'rothers  t  >ok  a  chair  clo>e 

«   Harvey,  settling   down   to  busisicss ;    "  here  you 

•',  an  item  about  a  law  being  enforced  by  the 
C  v'ernment,  to  provide  that  all  d.uigcrous  lunatics 
nij-t  be  confined  in  a.->ylum.s.  Don't  y  .i  sec  v\ hat's 
the  proper  thing  to  say  about  that?  " 

"  No,"  said  Harvey.  "  It  stukc-  nie  that's  an  oc- 
casion for  saying  might}  little." 

"  Nothin<:  of  the  sort.  It's  a  bullv-  fine  chance  tu 
say  that  this  means  the  organ  acro^.-^  the  \\a\-  will 
lose  its  editor.  Everybody'!!  cnjo)-  that,  don't  you 
see  ? 

"  The  editor  won't,"  said  Harvc\-. 

"  Of  Course,  he  won't — that's  just  the  point,  /^nd 
here's  another  ':asc  -about  the  Hon.  "  Ir.  \\  urthing 
being  struck  by  a  street  c;  r.  I  .,utice  }OU  l^ave  him 
sitting  up  already.  That  woi.  t  do;  i  paper  that 
cures  them  as  qui  k  as  that  won't  be  able  to  pa}-  its 
office-boy  soon,  uf  course,  it's  true  enough,  I  dare 
say — he's  probably  playing  billiards  in  his  home, 
with  a  trained  nurse  answering  the  tront  e'.nor  like 
enough,  he's  sitting  up  a'l  night  going  over  his  acci 
dent  policies.  But  we've  got  to  have  him  bandaged 
to  t'  •=:  teeth — tlie  public  love^  lots  of  arnica  and  stick- 
ing plaster — and  he's  struggling  lor  consciousness — 
and  he's  got  to  be  crying  out  every  now  and  ttien  as 
if  he  were  being  ground  to  powder;  and  his  n-ife's 


IB '  M 


a  .1 


A  JOURS ALISTS  l\'JU\CTIuSS         141 

going:;  inti-  suoun^  and  comuu^  out  (^l  thctn  like  a 
train  ruiini:i^^  tunnel-  in  the  Ivtjckics.  Besides,  we've 
got  t  )  kiniba.-.te  the  Ci^nipan)-;  the  street-car  hnc  is 
our  niunicip.'l  a^sa.-..Mn — Mok)ch — Ju;'"':"'-naut — all 
that  .-^ort  of  thing.      Hut  botli  those  \vi  ?  .s  should  be 

in and  \ou  can't  use  words  like  that  if  their  victini's 

goin;^  to  be  down  street  to-morrow." 

"  Vuu  .should  have  a  staff  uf  novelists,"  suggested 

Harvey. 

"  Anil  here — iiere's  a  capital  illustration  of  wh.j^  T 
mean."  Mr  Cr)thers  hurried  on,  ignoring  the  innuen<; 
"I   >ce   Rev.  l)r   Hlaktley  conies   out   with   tne  an- 
nouncement that  there's  no  such  place  a-,  lieil — do 
you  know  what  I'd  say  there,  Si-nmons.' 

"  You'd  say  you  had  no  objections,  I  should 
think,"  Harvey'-  face  lighting  with  unfaiaiiiar  merii- 
ment 

"  1  wouldn't — the  public  doesn't  care  a  tini.er's 
malediction  whether  1  ol.jcct  or  not  There's  a  great 
chance  tliei'  for  a  civic  -t.  oke— I'd  say  thi>  informa- 
tion throw-  u-  back  on  Bkinkville,"  and  Mr.  Crothcrs 
named  with  mu-jli  contcirpt  a  rival  city  fifty  miles 
away.  "It's  little  gem-  !;';c  tliat,  that  :iake  a  paper 
readable,  I  -ce  a  fel'^nv  m  that  >aine  cit\  was  ar- 
retted I'l;  ki^^-ing  ^irl^  <  n  tht-  -trcet ;  then  he  was 
ex.i:ni!ic!  and  found  insane.  ■\\'ell,  the  thing  to  ^ay 
there,  is,  that  any  one  who  hui  e\  er  seen  their  girls 
would  ha\c  known  the  man  w,  -  cra/\'.  Xew-  i^  like 
food,  .-^inmion- — cv-crNthin.,  depends  on  how  it'^.  i)re- 
pared  :   n-hody  !i^:f-  it  raw." 

•'  Hut  what  about  that  L:amc  with  the  Scotchmen'" 


342 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


I  :tf 


Harvey    ventured,    inwardly    rather   cliagrined  with 
the  verdict  on  his  handiwork. 

"  Well,  you've  got  it  cliuck  full  of  points  about  the 
game — and  that's  no  good.     It's  got  to  be  interest- 
ing.    You've  got  to  give  it  a  human  touch.     There's 
one  of  the  Scotch  bowlers,  for  instance,  old  Sander- 
son   from   Edinburgh— they   say   he's  worth   eleven 
millions.     Well,  I'm  told  there's  an  ciU  fellow  that 
sweeps  out  a  little  struggling  church  on  Cedar  Street 
— he's  its  caretaker— and  I'm  tokl  he  used  to  go  to 
school  with  Sanderson.     Now,  it's  the  simplest  thing 
in  the  world  to  have  th-.t  old  geezer  come  around  to 
the  green  with  his  feather  duster  in  his  hand— and 
Sanderson  stares  at  him  a  minute  ;  then  he  recognizes 
him  all  of  a  sudden,  and  the  old  dodgers  fall  to  and 
hug  each  other  like  two  old  maids.     And  have  them 
both  weep — especially  Sanderson,  because  he's  rich. 
And  some  of  those  other  millionaires  should  go  off  to 
the  edge  of  the  lawn  and  blow  their  nose — you  un- 
derstand—the human  touch,  as  I  said.     Make  Sander- 
son go  home  with  the  old  geezer  for  supper ;  might 
just  as  well— it  wouldn't  hurt  him." 

"  Sanderson  wouldn't  relish  the  caretaker's  bill  of 
fare.  I'm  afraid,"  Harvey  said  significantly. 

"  I  guess  you're  right.  And  that  brings  me  back 
to  the  thing  I  intended  particularly  to  speak  about. 
Those  Scotchmen  were  properly  beaten,  as  your 
score-card  shows.  Hut  j'ou  don't  give  the  real  reason 
— and  it's  the  kind  of  a  reason  cverj-body  likes  to 
hear  about.  Vnr  all  yrn;  say,  any  one  would  think  it 
was  a  mere  matter  of  skill.     Now,  of  course,  we  all 


A  JOURNALISTS  INJUNCTIONS         343 

know  the  reason — it's  the  moist  time  they  were  hav- 
ing that  Ucktd  them.  Most  of  them  were  full.  Of 
course,  it  wouldn't  do  to  put  it  that  waj- — nobody'd 
enjoy  that.  But  it's  a  capital  chance  for  some  delicate 
word-painting — keep  it  kind  of  veiled.  Say  some- 
thing like  this  :  '  our  genial  visitors  drank  deep  of  the 
spirit  that  was  much  in  evidence  throughi)ut  the 
game.'  Or,  better  still :  '  our  genial  visitors  became 
more  and  more  animated  by  their  national  spirit  as 
the  game  wore  on^ — some  of  them  seemed  quite  full 
of  it.'  Or  something  like  this  :  '  in  liquid  prowess 
our  Hritish  cousins  far  outran  us — if,  indeed,  that  be 
the  proper  verb,  since  many  of  our  friends  were  in 
various  legrees  f  horizontality  before  the  game  was 
finished.'  Vou  see,  a  description  like  that  appeals  to 
the  imaginatitni — it's  subtle — keeps  readers  guessing. 
Or  this  would  be  a  fine  way  of  putting  it :  'it  was 
evident  yesterday  that  the  little  finger  plays  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  ancient  game  of  bowling  on  the 
green' — something  like  tliat.  What  I'm  getting  at, 
Simmons,  is  this — there's  a  great  chance  there  for 
something  humorous,  and  a  journalist  ought  to  make 
the  most  of  it.  What  makes  you  look  so  glum,  Sim- 
mons ? — I  don't  believe  you've  got  much  sense  of 
humour  yourself." 

Harvey  made  no  response.  But  his  face  was  rest- 
ing on  his  hand,  and  there  must  have  been  something 
in  the  plaintive  eyes  that  engaged  the  attention  of 
Mr.  Crothers.  He  could  hardly  fail  to  see  that  all  of 
a  sudden  Harvey  had  become  deaf  to  his  tuition  ; 
and,  more  remaikable,  the  care-worn  face  seemed  but 


^44 


THE    IVEB    Of    TIME 


i  i 

ii 


n 


>ii 


to  grow  graver  as  his  monitor  pursued  his  praise  of 
mirth. 

"  You're  looking  rather  blue,  Simmons,"  he  added 
after  a  keen  scrutmy,  Harvey  still  remaining  silent, 
"  but  that  needn't  prevent  you  writing  lots  of  funny 
thnigs.  Some  of  the  funniest  things  ever  written,  or 
spoken,    have    been    done    by    people    with    broken 

hearts  inside  of  them.     Take  an  actor  for  instance 

doubling  up  his  audience,  and  his  own  little  girl 
dying  at  home— most  likely  asking  why  father  doesn't 
come,  too  ;  queer  tangled  world  this,  my  bo>-,  and 
nobody  feels  its  pulse  betier  than  us  fellows.  Any- 
thing the  matter,  Simmon.^?"  he  suddenly  enquired, 
for  Harvey's  lips  were  pale  ;  and  the  chief  could  see 
a  quiver,  as  of  pam,  overrun  his  face. 

Harvey's  voice  had  a  wealth  of  passion  in  it. 
"  You'll  have  to  get  some  other  fellow  to  see  the 
humorous  side  of— of— of  that  thing,"  he  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  thing  ?  "  asked  tlie 
dumfoundered  Crothers. 

"  That  drink  business— God  !  it's  no  comedy,"  and 
Crothers  started  as  he  saw  the  perspiration  breaking 
out  on  Harvey's  brow,  his  face  a  battlefield,  his  hands 
clenched  as  if  he  saw  an  enemy. 

Crothers  indulged  in  a  low  whistle,  his  eyes  never 
moving  from  Harvey's  face.  For  ihe  veteran  jour- 
nalist was  no  child.  He  knew  the  marks  of  strife 
when  he  saw  them  ;  experience  partly,  p.<d  sympathy 
still  more,  had  fitted  him  to  tell  the  difference  be- 
tween a  man  sporting  in  the  surf  and  a  man  fighting 
ior  his   life  against  the   undertow.     And  one  keen 


^i*    JOURNALISTS    INJUNCTIONS       345 

look  into  the  depths  uf  Harvey's  outpouring  eyes 
told  Iiini  lie  was  in  the  presence  of  a  tragedy.  He 
rose  and  put  his  hand  on  1  Iar\  ey.,  shoulder  ;  familiar 
uith  tender  ivaj-s  it  was  nut— but  it  was  a  human  hand, 
and  a  human  heart  had  laid  it  there. 

"  SimnKjns, '  lie  said,  and   the  usually  gruff  voice 
had    a    gentle   note;  "  Simmons,  I    know   wliat   you 
mean.     Alay    a.s   well   tell    you  straigiit,  I've    heard 
a   little— and    I've  seen    a  little,  too.     And  1  should 
have  known  better  than  talk  like  that  to  you.     And 
we  ail  believe  you'll  win  out  )et,  old  chap.     Now  I'll 
tell  you  what  I  think  you  ought  to  do.     You  ought  to 
go  away  somewhere  for  a  little  trip— there's  nothing 
lielps  a  man  in  a  tight  of  this  kind  like  having  his  at- 
tention taken  up  with  something  else.     I'll  keep  your 
place   open    for  you    here— and   if  jou  could  get  a 
couple  of  congenial  fellows  to  go  off  with  you  for  a 
httle  holiday  you'd  be  like  a  nc^^■  man  when  you  came 
back.     Strictly    water-waggon    fellows,   of    course," 
he  added  with  a  smile.     ••  I  know  it's  a  hard   fight, 
my  boy— but  buckle  right  down  to  it.     And  you  go 
right  home  now— you're  played  clean  out.  I  can  see 
that— and  take  a  good  sleep  till  noon.     Then  you 
skip  out  just  as  soon  as  you  can  arrange  it  and  liave 
a  ripping  good  holiday  ;  that'll  set  you  up  better  than 
anything  else.     Good-night  now— or  good-morning, 
rather,  I  guess.     A  nd  remember  this  above  all  things, 
Simmons— keep  your  mind  diverted,  always  be  sure 
and  keep  your  mind  diverted."  with  which  advice  Mr. 
Crothers  rose  to  accompany  Harvey  to  the  door. 


XXXI 
THE    TROUGH    OF    THE    IV/I^E 

HE  was  glad  to  be  alone.  Lesser  conflicts 
crave  the  help  and  inspiration  of  human 
company;  but  there  comes  a  time  '^-^n  a 
man  knows  the  battle  must  be  fought  out  alone  against 
the  principalities  and  powers  that  no  heart,  however 
strong  or  loving,  can  help  him  to  withstand.  For  no 
other  can  discern  his  enemy  but  himself. 

Harvey  turned  with  swift  steps  towards  home.  I  Te 
thought  of  his  waiting  room,  with  everything  that 
could  contribute  to  self-respect  and  comfort ;  and  of 
Miss  Farringall,  whose  increasing  devotion  seldom 
failed  tc  find  a  voice,  no  matter  how  late  the  hour  of 
his  return.  But  as  he  hurried  along  he  marvelled  at 
the  strange  craving  that  gnawed  persistently  within. 
The  action  of  his  heart  seemed  weak ;  his  lips  were 
parched ;  his  hands  were  .shaky,  his  nerves  a-tingle, 
while  a  nameless  terror,  as  if  of  impending  ill,  cast  its 
shadow  over  him.  And  through  it  all  burned  the 
dreadful  thirst,  tyrannical,  insistent,  tormenting. 

Resolved  to  resist  to  the  la.st,  he  was  still  pressing 
steadily  on.  Suddenly  he  stopped  almost  still,  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  a  light  in  an  upper  window.  His 
heart  leaped  as  he  saw  a  tall  form  pass  between  him 
and  the  lamp.     For  he  recognized  it,  or  thought  he 

346 


7 he    TROUGH  of    The    WAVE     347 


did.  The  room  was  Oliver's — that  same  Oliver  as  had 
goaded  him  to  that  fatal  toast — and  it  was  quite  a  com- 
mon experience  for  that  worthy  to  be  playing  host 
through  the  small  hours  of  the  morning.  A  sense 
of  [)e'il  ^^mote  Harvey  as  he  looked;  yet,  reflecting 
a  moment,  he  assured  himself  that  he  would  find 
around  that  brilliant  light  two  or  three  whose  blithe 
companionship  would  help  to  beat  back  the  evil  spirit 
that  assailed  him.  A  chat  on  matters  journalistic,  a 
good  laugh,  an  hour  or  two  of  human  fellowship 
would  give  him  relief  from  this  infernal  craving. 
Ik'sides,  what  hoj^c  !  r  him  if  he  could  not  resist  a 
little  temptation,  should  such  i)resent  itself? 

So  his  resolve  was  quickly  formed ;  putting  his 
fingers  to  his  mouth,  a  shrill  whistle  brought  a  famil- 
iar face  to  the  window. 

"Jumping  Jehoshaphat !  is  that  you,  Simmons  ?  " 
was  the  exclamation  that  greeted  Harvey  as  soon  as 
he  was  recognized.  "  Come  on  up — we  were  just 
speaking  of  you.  I'll  be  down  to  the  door  in  less 
tliar  half  a  minute." 

The  allotted  time  had  scarce  el  sed  when  I'almer, 
for  such  was  the  name  of  the  cordial  blade — clerk  in 
a  mercantile  house  and  friend  to  Oliver — was  at  the 
door.  Taking  Harvey's  arm  he  guided  him  cheer- 
fully through  the  somewhat  dingy  hall,  ushering  him 
into  a  rather  dishevelled  room,  in  sei)arate  corners  of 
which  sat  the  hospitable  Oliver  and  another  boon 
companion,  Scottie  Forrester  by  n.  nc.  Like  Oliver, 
Scottiewas  in  newspaper  life;  his  apprenticeship  had 
been  served  m  Glasgow. 


348 


THE    WEB    OF   TIME 


1  •; 


m\ 


"  Brethren,"  Palmer  said  solemnly  as  they  entered, 
"  I  know  you're  always  glad  when  we  can  bring  in 
any  poor  wanderer  from  the  highways  or  bywajs.  I 
want  you  to  be  kind  to  the  strange/  for  my  sake — he 
hasn't  had  anything  to  eat  since  his  last  meal." 

"  Sit  down,  Simmons,"  directed  Oliver.  "  Don't 
mind  Palmer — he's  farm-bred,  you  know,  and  he 
thinks  it's  a  deuce  of  an  achievement  to  sit  up  at 
night.  He  used  to  have  to  go  to  bed  with  the 
calves." 

"  Now  I  sit  up  with  the  goats,"  rejoined  the  once 
rustic  Palmer,  producing  a  pipe  and  calmly  proceed- 
ing to  equip  it.  "  But  I  ought  to  be  in  bed.  I'm 
played  out.  I  was  so  tired  at  dinner  to-night  I  went 
to  sleep  over  the  salad  course." 

•'  Oh,  Lord,"  broke  in  Forrester;  "  hear  him  prat- 
tling about  night  dinners — and  he  never  had  anything 
but  bread  and  molasses  for  supper  on  the  farm.  And 
hear  him  giving  us  that  guff  about  the  salad  course, 
as  if  he  was  the  son  of  a  duke.  If  you'd  lived  in 
Glasgow,  my  boy,  they'd  have  brought  you  to  time 
pretty  quick.  A  man's  got  to  be  a  gentleman  over 
there,  I  tei'  you,  before  he  has  evening  dinners  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing — did  you  drink  out  of  the  finger- 
bowls.  Palmer  ? " 

"  You  needn't  talk,  Scottie,"  growled  Oliver.  "  Vt)u 
write  your  letters  at  the  Arlington — and  you  get 
your  dinner  for  fifteen  cents  at  Webb's,  at  the  counter, 
with  your  hat  on." 

"  You're  a  liar,"  retorted  Scottie,  meaning  n--"-  oP 
fense  whatever.     "  I've  got  as  good  blood  inside  of 


•7  //  c    T  R  O  U  G  H   of    T  h  c    VV  A  l^  E      349 


nic  aa  .III)  iiuui  ill  tlii.-i  cit\" ;  my  niutin.r  uai  burn  in 
Auchtcrardcr  Cosllc  and " 

"  I  wouldn't  be  (ouikI  dcaii  in  a  ront-iii'vi>c:  with  a 
name  like  that,"  interrupted  '.lie  agricuituiai  Tahiicr. 
"  An)hu\v,  1  guess  she  was  the  cook — and  wiiat's 
mure,  nubody  here  cares  what  you've  got  inside  of 
)-uu.  But  there's  puur  Sinmiuiis — he's  uur  guest — 
and  lie  luuks  as  it' he  hadn't  put  an\  thing  iii^ide  of 
him  fur  a  dug's  age.  When.-'s  tlie  restorative,  Scot- 
tie  ?     It's  always  yuu  that  had  it  last." 

Scuttie  aruse  and  walked  sulemnly  to  a  little  cup- 
board in  the  wall.  "  I'll  inform  you,  Mr.  Sunmuns," 
he  began  gravely,  his  back  still  turned  to  the  cum- 
pany,  "  that  we're  here  for  a  double  purpose.  I'irst, 
we  were  having  a  little  intellectual  conference  on — 
on  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  Russian  empire,  a^  a  great 
authorit)-  put  it.  You  see,  we're  a  kind  of  a  Samuci 
Johnson  coterie — and  thi.s  is  a  kind  of  a  Cheshire 
Clieese.     I  was  there  once  when  1  was  in  Lontlun." 

"  He  went  to  London  with  cattle,"  informed 
Oliver,  striking  a  match — "  he  was  a  swine  herd  in 
Scotland." 

"  And  I'm  Samuel  Johnson,"  pursued  l*"urrester, 
unruffled  ;  "  and  I'almer,  he's  Hoswell.  And  we 
have  a  great  time  discussing  things." 

"  Who's  Oliver?"  Harvey  (MKjuired  with  faint  in- 
terest. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  forgot  liim  ;  Oliver's  the  cuspidor— 
you  oiiglit  to  be  right  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
Oliver,"  :ic  c-.'intinueil  aniiabb/,  turning  ri;unt!  uitl"!  a 
large    black    bottle  in   his   hand.     "  And  the   other 


3'>o 


THE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


purpose  we're  here  for,  Mr.  Simmons,  is  to  celebrate 
Palmer's  birthday.  We  don't  know  exactly  how  old 
he  is — he's  lied  about  his  age  so  long  that  he's  not  sure 
himself.  But  this  is  his  birthday,  anyhow  ;  and  they 
sent  him  up  a  little  present  from  the  farm.  It's  a 
superior  brand  of  raspberry  vinegar,  made  by  an 
aged  aunt  that's  worth  twenty  thousand  and  won't 
die." 

"  Stop  your  jack-assery,  Forrester,"  broke  in  Pal- 
mer ;  "  you  can't  fool  Simmons — he's  got  his  eye  on 
the  label." 

Which  was  true  enough.  Harvey's  eye  was  gleam- 
ing, staring,  like  some  pallid  woodsman's  when  it 
catches  the  glare  of  an  Indian's  fire. 

"  That's  all  right,  Simmons,"  explained  Forrester 
calmly ;  "  the  bottle  happens  to  bear  an  honoured 
Glasgow  name — and  the  liquid  is  worthy  of  it. 
There  isn't  a  headache  in  a  hogshead — try  it  and 
see." 

Harvey's  lips  were  white  and  dry.  "  No,  thank 
you,  Forrester,"  he  said  in  a  harsh  voice  that  sounded 
far  away.     "  I  won't  take  any." 

"Take  a  little  for  Palmer's  stomach's  sake— -he's 
had  enough." 

Harvey  refused  again.  I  titute  was  his  answer 
of  all  merriment  or  banter.  le  stood  bolt  upright, 
fixed  as  a  statue,  his  eyes  still  un  the  big  black  thing 
Forrester  was  holding  out  in  front  of  him.  "  Not 
any,  Forrester,"  he  said  ;  "  I  don't  want  any,  I  tell 
you." 

"  Let    him    alone,   Scottie,"    interrupted    Palmer. 


E 


The    TROUGH   of  The    WAVE      y-.\ 

••  Simmons  is  on  the  water -wa^'gon,  to-nijjht  anyhow 
— and  besides,  that  stuff's  a  dolhir  and  a  half  a  quart.'' 
Forrester  was  about  to  comply  when  Ohver  sud- 
denly arose  from  his  loun<;ing  position  and  shuffled 
out  tc  where  the  two  were  standing.  He  had  al- 
ready familiarized  himself  with  the  bottle  sufficiently 
to  be  in  a  rather  hectoring  mood. 

"  Go  and  sit  down,  Forrester,"  he  growled  out ;  "  I 
guess  I'm  the  host  here.  And  I  don't  blame 
Simmons  for  turning  up  his  nose,"  he  went  on  as  he 
turned  and  opened  a  little  cabinet — "  poking  a  black 
bottle  in  front  of  a  man  as  if  he  were  a  coal-heaver  ; 
we're  not  on  the  Glasgow  cattle  market,"  he  added 
contemptuously,  producing  a  couple  of  glasses  and 
handing  one  to  Harvey.  "  Here,  Simmons,  drink 
like  a  gentleman — and  I'll  drink  with  you."  And 
the  sweat  came  out  on  Harvey's  forehead  as  the  stuff 
poured  out,  gurgling  enticingly  as  it  broke  from  the 
bottle's  mouth.  "  Here,  this  is  yours  ;  and  we'll  drink 
to  the  Morning  Argus — it'll  belong  to  you  some  day. 
I  heard  to-day  it's  going  to  change  hands  soon  any- 
how." 

The  mention  of  the  name  lent  a  wealth  of  resolu- 
tion to  Harvey's  wavering  will.  He  recalled,  his 
heart  maddening  at  the  memory,  how  Oliver  had 
pressed  this  self-same  toast  before. 

"  I  wont,  Oliver,"  he  said,  controlling  liimself. 
"  I  don't  want  any." 

"  Come  now,  Simmons,  don't  be  foolish  ;  you've 
had  a  hard  night's  work,  and  you  look  all  in — ^just  a 
night  cap  to  help  you  sleep." 


v& 


352 


THE   IVEB    OF    TIME 


"  Look  here,  Oliver,"  Harvey's  voice  risinjj  a  little, 
"  I  guess  I  know  my  own  mind.  1  tell  you  I  won't 
drink.  I'm  under  promise.  I'm  bound  over  not  to 
take  anything  ;  and  I've  got  more  at  stake  on  it  than 
I  can  afford  to  lose — so  you  may  a.s  well  shut  up." 

Oliver  came  a  step  nearer.  "  Vou  can't  bluff  me, 
old  man,"  he  said  through  his  teeth,  his  heavy  ejcs 
snapping.  "  And  anyhow,  I'll  pay  it."  he  blustered, 
holding  out  the  fuming  glass,  a  leer  of  dogged  cun- 
ning on  his  face.     "  I'll  pay  your  stake,  Simmons." 

"  Vou  go  to  hell,"  hissed  Harvey,  striking  out 
wildly,  one  hand  smashing  the  bottle  in  fragments  to 
the  floor,  the  other  clutching  Oliver  by  the  throat ; 
«'  you  infernal  blood-sucker,"  as  he  pressed  him  back- 
ward to  the  wall. 

Palmer  and  Forrester  sprang  towards  the  men  ; 
but  before  they  were  able  to  interfere,  Harvey  had 
hurled  Oliver  against  the  table,  which  crashed  to  the 
floor  in  a  heap,  Oliver  mingling  with  the  wreckage. 
While  his  guests  were  helping  him  to  his  feet, 
Harvey  strode  towards  the  door ;  the  accursed  fumer. 
rose  about  hitn  iike  evil  spirits,  importunate  and 
deadly,  clutching  at  the  very  heart-strings  of  hi. 
will. 

Pale  and  trembling,  he  turned  when  he  rcaclKu 
the  door.  "  Anything  more  to  pay  ?"  he  muttered, 
nodding  towards  Oliver;  "  does  he  want  to  continiie 
the  argument  ?  " 

Oliver  made  a  stifled  protest,  but  his  friend- 
united  to  declare  that  the  debate  wa-  at  an  end. 
"Come  back,  Simmons,"  appealed    Palmer;  "don't 


SF" 


7B77V — aS^ 


»■_. 


The    TROUGH   of    The    WAVE      3,3 

let  our  little  cvenin-  b-.ak  i.p  l.kc  thi.-Olivcr's  rot 
no  kick  comin-^.     Sit  down." 

But  Harvey  uttered  an  inaudible  malediction  and 
slammed  the  door  behind  him.  Ihey  could  liear 
him  findinjT  his  way  alon-  the  unli-hted  hall. 

"  Vou  got  what  was  coming  to  you.  old  ciuip," 
1  aimer  informed  his  ho.st ;  "  nobody's  got  any  ri-d.t 
to  badger  a  fellow  the  way  you  did  Simmon.  a', 
worse  than  setting  fire  to  a  barn-youVe  a  damned 
incendiary,'  he  concluded,  resuming  the  smoke  that 
had  been  so  effectually  interrupted. 

While  the  debate,  thus  happily  begun,  went  on  its 
vigorous   way.   ffarvey  was  walking  aimlessly- about 
the  street,  caring  little  whither  his  steps  might  lead 
him.     Alter  tlic   first  gust   of  excit- ment  had  sub- 
sided a  new  and  delicious  sense  of  victory  possessed 
him.     Not    from   having  worsted   Oliver— that   was 
quite  forgotten-hut  fron,  having  met  and  conquered 
his  temptation.     His  breath  came  fast  as  he  recalled 
how  ste^n  and  sore  had  the  conflict  been  ;  but  a  kind 
of  elation  he  had  never  known  before  mingled  with 
he  memory  of  it  all.     For  he  had  won-and  under 
he    most   trying  circumstances-and    he   smiled   to 
himself  as   he  thought  how  he  had  passed  through 
lie   ordeal.     Its    most    ho^    ful    feature  was    for  the 
future ;   it  w-as  a   pledge   ..    how  he   might  hope  to 
prevail  if  the  fight  should  ever  be  renewed.     Re  as- 
sured, he  even  fell  to  thinking  of  other  things  ;  of  his 
promise  to   his   mother-had  she  seen    his  struggle 
and    gloried    in    his  victory,    he  xvondere^!  •   a-d    cf 
Jessie,  faithful  ally;  and  of  his  profession  andhisprog- 


liii 


.1 


3M 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


ress  in  it.  He  recalled,  as  though  it  had  occurred 
long  ago,  Oliver's  prediction  tliat  he  w  ould  some  day 
own  the  Argus — and  his  fierce  anger  towards  Oliver 
abated  a  little.  Yet  all  this  was  insignificant,  he  re- 
flected, compared  to  the  progress  he  was  making 
along  higher  lines. 

But  the  elation  did  not  last.  Fatigue  crept  upon 
him.  And  he  was  chilled ;  he  was  hungry,  too. 
Besides,  the  nervous  strain  had  been  a  severe  one, 
and  the  reaction  was  correspondingly  acute.  Grad- 
ually the  tide  ceased  to  flow,  then  stood  stationary  a 
moment — then  began  ebbing  fast.  And  the  sense  of 
victory  paled  and  died  ;  the  thrill  of  exultation  passed 
away ;  the  ardour  of  battle  and  of  conquest  chilled 
within  him.  And  again  his  lips  became  parched, 
his  hand  again  unsteady,  his  nerves  again  unstrung. 
And  the  dreadful  thirst  returned.  To  the  swept  and 
garnished  house  the  evil  spirit  crept  back  with 
muffled  tread,  hopeful  of  a  better  tenure. 

The  stoutest  castle  is  easily  taken  if  its  lord  has 
ceased  to  watch.  Or  if  he  be  absent,  the  capture  is 
easier  still — especially  if  he  be  gone  to  feast  on  for- 
mer battle  fields  where  his  right  arm  brought  him 
victory. 

Wherefore  Harvey's  second  struggle  was  brief  ant! 
pitiful;  the  enemy  had  caught  him  unawares.  And 
more  shrill  and  impatient  than  before  was  the  whistle 
that  sounded  soon  again  beneath  Oliver's  still  lighted 
window.  And  his  welcome  was  not  less  cordial, 
Oliver  himself  taking  the  leading  part. 

"  What  in  thunder's  the  matter,  Simmons  ?  "  en- 


The    TROUGH   of    J  ii  e    WAVE      3^5 

quired    I'ahncr  ;  "  }-()u   liolc  a-  if  yni'ij  been  through 
athrc~li:i)„^  niachiiic." 

liaivy  paid  no  atlcntKHi.  lli-  bl  >od-shi  t  eyes 
looked  aDoiit  tile  room,  Nearciiiii'4  lor  soinethaii;. 
His  !,and  a  as  shaking,  and  every  now  and  llien  he 
ran  1»:-  tongue  over  the  withered  hp-.  ;  tlio  blood 
secmeci  '.•  have  left  his  cheek. 

"  I  St  ciianged  wxy  mind.  '  jte  began  huskil}-;  •'  I'm 
n  .1  wJi— ;ipH  III  tike  some  ot  that,  it  you  do.:'t 
nil  id.  (i;  t  a  iittle — but  I've  got  to  get  braced  up 
or  !  li  ewilap.--'  . 

torr;.Tter  whistled.  "  The  spring's  gone  dry,  old 
man,'  he  said  "I'm  cruel  sorry — but  it  was  that 
little  ;.,e>turc  of  yours  that  did  it." 

Harvey's  c\-es  looked  aroum!  ;:i-;  iori;  ..  '>■  The 
pungent  fumes  were  still  rising  f:u'  ;:•<•  ;":•...  'oad- 
ing  his  appetite  to  madness. 

'I'm  afraid  that's  right,  Simm  '  ,,:..;.,..  .-r ; 
"  thore''^  a  teas{)oonful  there  in  tiiv  ••';::'  .-tie 
— but  it  s  not  enough  to  make  a  hwall   \ 

"Where  is  it?"  muttered  Ifarvey,  -  x.-ar:^  to 
where  tile  broken  fragments  lay. 

He  found  it ;  and  even  tiiose  who  liad  tried  so  Iiard 
to  overbear  liim  a  little  wiiile  i>efore  cast  pitying 
glances  as  he  stooped  down,  trembling,  lifting  tiie 
bottom  ..f  the  fjottle  in  both  his  shaky  hands,  lifting 
it  carefully  an  1  iiolding  it  to  his  lips  till  the  last  drop 
was  drained. 

It  was  but  a  few  minutes  till  he  resumed  the  quest. 
"  Ml;  ,t  lie  >;;ir.c  more  lying  roupJ  soiucuhere,"  he 
said,  witli  a  smile  tliat  was  pitiful  to  see. 


3=>6 


7HE    [VEB    OF   TIME 


i 


"Afraid  not,"   said   Oliver;  "that  was   the  last." 

"Whats  in  that  cabinet?"  Harvey  urged,  rising 
to  his  feet. 

"  No  go,  Simmons,  I'm  afraid,"  muttered  Forres- 
ter ;  "  if  there  was  any  round,  Oiiver'd  know  it — 
when  he  gives  up,  there  ain't  any." 

Harvey  got  up  and  went  over  to  rainier,  throw- 
ing his  arm  about  his  shoulder.  "  I  say,  old  man," 
he  began,  controlling  his  voice  as  best  i»e  could, 
"  you  don't  know  how  bad  I'm  feeling.  And  you've 
got  a  flask  with  you,  haven't  you,  Palmer? — I 
wouldn't  ask  you,  only  I'm  feeling  so  tough.  Had  a 
hard  time  of  it  in  the  office  to-night." 

Palmer  looked  hard  at  him.  "  If  I  had  a  tankful  I 
wouldn't  give  you  a  drop,  Simmons, "  he  said. 

Harvey  winced.  And  he  stood  looking  into  Pal- 
mer's face  like  a  guilty  man,  his  eyes  gradually  turn- 
ing away  in  confusion  beft  re  the  otlier's  searching 
gaze.  A  hot  flush  of  shame,  not  yet  unfamiliar 
flowed  over  cheek  and  brow.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
moment — these  better  sjinptoms  retreated  before  the 
flame  that  consumed  him.  "  I'm  going  out,"  he  said 
presently,  his  eyes  turning  heavily  from  one  face  to 
the  other,  his  parched  lips  trembling. 

"  If  you've  got  to  have  it,  I  think  I  know  a  place 
we  can  get  in — I'm  sure  I  do,"  drawled  Oliver,  yawn- 
ing.    "  But  bed's  the  place  for  all  of  us." 

Harvey  was  all  alive.  "Come  on,  old  chap,"  he 
exclaimed  eagerly ;  "  that's  a  good  fellow — here's 
your  Iiat.  It  won't  take  long,"  he  added  assuringly, 
mt  ,'ing  towards  the  door. 


7  //  c-    TRO  U  G  H   of    7  h  c    li^'  A  V  E      3S7 

There  was  liltl(;  reluctance  on  Oliver's  part.  And 
a  Tew  minutes  later  the  two  went  out  together  arm 
in  arm,  the  victor  and  the  \an(iui>he(l- — but  van- 
(luished  both.  It  was  Harvey  who  clutiL,^  close,  al- 
nio>t  fondly,  to  tile  other;  no  memory  of  ()li\cr'.s 
share  in  his  undoing,  no  liatred  of  the  a>>av^in-lKmd 
tempered  the  flow  of  fellow.->liip  between  them  now. 


m 


The  morninc^  had  not  yet  come.  But  passion's 
gust  was  over  and  sated  appetite  refused. 

"  I'm  fjoint;  home,'  said  Harvey,  his  voice  unnatu- 
ral, his  feet  unsteady. 

"  Xot  >  et,"  said  (  )liver — "  let's  make  a  night  of  it." 

"A  nii^'ht  o\  it  I"  exclaimed  the  other  bitterly. 
"  Good  (iod,  C)li\'er  !  " 

"  Come  on,"  said  his  compani(jn  doggedly,  "  Come 
with  me — we'll  both  see  the  tiling  tiirougii." 

"  Come  wiieie?  "  said  Harvey. 

"  You'll  see.  Come  down  tiiis  alley  here — wait  a 
miiuite." 

Tiiree  or  four  minutes  Iiad  elapsed  ;  they  were  still 
wal  icing, 

"There,"  said  Oliver,  standing  still;  "can  you 
see  that  light  .^— there,  in  tiiat  upper  window," 

He  saw  it.  It  gleamed  sinir^ter,  significant,  throut^di 
the  niirls- ;  ijlacicer  than  tiie  tlecpest  dari<ness  was  its 
baneful  light. 

'•  What  about  it?"  said  Harvey. 

Oliver  said  something  in  a  low  voice  ;  then  he 
lauglied. 


^58 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


i 


Simmons  turned  full  on  his  companion.  The 
moon  was  settinjr,  but  its  latest  beams  still  shed  a 
fitful  light.  And  they  showed  Harvey's  face  flushed 
and  worn,  the  eyes  unnatural  in  their  heaviness  and 
gloom.  But  there  was  a  strange  redeeming  light  in 
them  as  they  fixed  themselves  on  Oliver,  the  light  of 
indignant  scorn;  any  who  had  known  his  mother 
would  have  recognized  something  of  the  old-time 
light  that  had  glowed  from  her  face  before  the  dark- 
ness veiled  it. 

Harvey's  heavy  eyes  flashed  as  he  spoke.  "  Oli- 
ver," he  said,  and  the  tone  was  haughty,  old-time  pride 
struggling  against  fearful  odds  as  the  sun  vrithes  its 
way  through  the  mist;  "Oliver,  if  you'.e  going  to 
the  devil,  you  can  go  alone.  I'm  nut  unite  gone  yet, 
thank  God.  Im  a  good  many  kinds  of  a  fool,  I 
know— but  I'm  not  tha»  kind--rm  not  a  sot.  And 
Oliver,"  coming  closer  up  to  him,  "  I'll  admit  I'm  as 
much  to  blame  for  to-night  as  you  are— but  were 
done,  Oliver,  now.  We're  done  with  each  ..tiier— 
forever.  D'ye  hear.  Oliver?"  as  he  turned  and 
started  back  up  che  shadowy  lane. 

Oliver  blinked  after  him  a  moment ;  then  he  went 
on  towards  the  light,  into  the  darkness. 


;»  f  : 


i! 


P 


XXXII 
HARyEYS  UNSEEN  D  E  L  1 1^  E  ,<  F  R 

THE  succeeding  day  uas  melting;  softly  into 
dusk. 

While  it  may  be  true  that  none  can  utterly 
affu-m  .t  .s  equally  true  that  none  can  finally 
denj  he  m.nrstry  of  the  dead.  J'robably  none 
altogether  rejects  the  thought  except  tho.c  who 
disbeheve  in  the  immortahty  of  the  soul.  For  if 
death  be  but  the  disenthralhnent  of  the  spn-.t,  and  its 
engraftment  on  the  infinite,  how  thus  should  its  n,>- 

ruot  ^"f  °U''"''  "  '''^  '"''"^  '"^"^^'•>'  •^^•"--  -^- 
rupt.un       We  may  not  know;  though   ma>  hap  ux- 

may  st.U  rece.ve.     If  benef.ciar.es  we  are  of  the  un- 

too     hi  swell   the  sun.  of  that  great  surpr.se  that 
auaits  Us  m  eternity. 

nfrv^.r'"",'""''    '"^"'"^'^^    ''^"'    ^'■^"^'^J  about 
Harvey  through   the  day.     Ivxcept  for  a  few  brief 

-nutes    with    Miss     Farnngall    and    Jc.s.e.   d^    1 

^^  -ch   nether  had  spoken  n>uch.  the  long  lu  urs  had 

b^n  spent  alone.     And  the  solitude  had  seemed;' 

cm  a,  tunes  ;   w.th  what,  he  scarcely  knew.     Shan.e 

and  dKsconmture  and  fear  had  throneed  his  h,..t  ."! 

^nc  day  ^vas  one  of  su.  i:   humihatiun  as  ch^istered 

359 


«r  T,» 'a»'*'«>5 


3t)0 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


%' 


monk  might  rejoice  to  know.  Not  that  he  was  con- 
scious of  the  process,  nor  did  he  even  invardly  call 
it  by  any  such  name  iis  that.  liut  he  knew  that  he 
had  been  beaten — beaten,  too,  in  the  very  hour  that 
had  thrilled  with  tiie  confidence  of  victory.  More 
than  once,  recountiny;  his  defects  one  by  one,  and 
recalling  his  frctjuent  vows,  was  he  on  the  verge  of 
self-contempt ;  against  this  he  fought  as  if  for  life. 

As  the  day  wore  slowly  by,  the  struggle  deepened. 
A  strange  heart-chilling  fear  of  the  night  began  to 
pos.>,ess  him.  Looking  from  the  window  of  his  room, 
he  could  see  the  westering  sun  and  the  lengthening 
shadows  ;  both  seemed  to  point  the  hour  of  returning 
conflict. 

He  tried  in  vain  to  dismiss  this  strange  misgiving. 
The  sun  crept  slowly  closer  to  the  glowing  west,  and 
its  silent  course  seemed  to  have  something  ominous 
about  it,  solemnly  departing  as  if  it  knew  the  peril  of 
the  crafty  dark.  He  tried  to  read,  but  his  eyes 
slipped  on  the  words.  Turning  to  one  of  his  dead 
mother's  letters,  he  sought  the  ccmfort  of  the  loving 
words ;  but  he  found  no  shelter  there,  and  the  relent- 
less thirst  ke|.^t  deepening  in  liis  heart.  Then  he 
tried  to  recall  some  of  the  gayer  scenes  of  ileparted 
college  days  ;  tlu-ir  mirth  wa-;  tnriu'd  to  ashes  now. 

I"ir.ally,  and  witli  a  bounding  heart,  like  a  fugitive 
whose  eyes  descr\- some  long  sought  place  of  refuge, 
he  liethought  him^^elf  of  the  Bible  his  mother  had 
hidden  in  his  trui.k  when  first  he  had  left  her  care. 
Reverently,  passionately,  hopefully  he  made  his  way 
to  man)-  a  tree  of  life  within  it--but  its  shade  seemed 


HARl^EYS  UNSEEN  DELIVERER        361 

riven  above  him  and  the  fierce  heat  still  searched  liis 
soul. 

With  a  stifled  cry  he  sprang  from  the  bed,  despair- 
ing  of  reinforcement  elsewhere  than  in  his  own  be- 
leaguered heart.     He  would  fight  it  out,  though  the 
fight  should  kill  him.      The  strange  sinking  fell  again 
upon  his  spirit  and  the  unearthly  fires  burned  anew 
within  him.     His  lips  again  were  parcned  and  hi.-,  shak- 
ing hand  all  but  refused  to  do  the  bidding  of  his  will. 
He  had  not  tasted  food  throughout  the  day  ;  yet  the 
thought   of  food  was   intolerable.     What   tormented 
him  most  was  the  thought,  iMesenting  itself  agam  and 
again,  that   if  he   had  but   the  smallest  allowance  of 
stimulant   the   pain    would   be    at   an    end    and  the 
threatened  collapse  averted.     But  he  knew  how  false 
and  seductive  was  the  pica,  and  resisted.      \'ct  what 
could  he  do  ?  -this  unequal  conllict  could  not  endure, 
liie    perspiration    stood    in    beads    upon    his    brow, 
though    he  was    shaken   with    chilis    as   by  an  ague.' 
iJcfiant,    his     resolution     .allied     as     he     noted  ''the 
symptoms  of  his  weakness.     A    kind  of  grim  anger 
gathered    as    he    felt    the    deadly  persistence  of   his 
e'uemy;  and  his  step  was   almost   tirm  as  he  walked 
to  the  door  of  his  room.      He  locked  it  swiftly,  put- 
tuig  the   key  in   his  pocket,  stamping  his  foot  as  he 
turned  away. 

This  seemed  to  help  him  some.  It  made  him  feel 
at  least  that  he  had  coiDe  to  close  (juarters  with  his 
'le-'troycr,  shut  up  alone  with  his  dread  antagonist. 
Herein  was  the  hopefulness  of  the  situation,  that  he 
had  come  to  recognize  the  strength  of  his  enemy  and 


362 


•THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


HHK 

,i 

^^w 

i 

^^^^^B' 

Hi 

Hn 

if 

^H 

lit 

the  portent  of  the  strug-Ic.  Had  he  been  locked  in 
the  same  room  with  a  madman  the  situation  could 
not  have  been  more  real. 

Suddenly  a  stran^^e  thin-  befell  him.     Some  would 
explain  it  m  terms  of  an  overwrought  nervou.-,  systeni 
some  m  terms  of  a  disordered  fancy.     It  matters  not" 
But  1  farvey  heard,  amid  the  wild  tumult  of  that  twili.-ht 
hour-he   heard   his   mothers  voice.     On'y  oncc^  it 
came-and  the  sweet  notes  slowly  died,  like  the  tones 
of  some  rich  bell  across   a  waste  of   waters-but  he 
heard   it  and  hi.s  whole  soul  it(,od  still  t.;  li.sten.     He 
cau-ht  its  message  in  an  instant .  the  whole  meamn- 
of  It  was  wonderfully  clear,  and  his  heart  answered 
and  obeyed  with  instant  gladness.      For  it  .eemed  to 
pomt  the  way  to  rest,  and  victory,  and  healing. 

He  glanced  at  his  watch.  There  was  just  time  to 
catch  the  train  ;  and  without  pause  or  hesitation  he 
unlocked  the  door  and  passed  out  into  the  street.  A 
word  to  a  servant,  to  allay  wonder  at  his  absence,  was 
his  o:  'y  farewell. 

What  greyhound  of  the  seas  is  swift  enough  to  out- 
run the  greedy  gulls  that  follow?  And  what  heart 
h.owever  swiftly  borne,  can  escai)e  its  besetting  sin  } 
It  may  ascend  up  into  heaven,  or  make  its  bed  in  hell 
or  take  t!ie  wings  of  the  morning,  or  plunge  into  the 
lair  of  darkness—but  temptation  never  (juits  the  chase. 
Thus  was  poor  Harvey  pursued  as  the  boundin- 
train  plunged  through  the  darkness  towards  his  far-ofi 
boyhood  home.  Still  the  battle  waged,  and  still  the 
fangs  of  ai^petite  kept  groping  for  his  heart  and 
clutching    at    his   will.     P.nt  he    endured    as    seeing 


-3 


MARKETS  UNSHEN  DEL/l^ERER        363 

the    invisible ;    and    the  City  of  Refuge  came   evrr 
nearer. 

As  they  came  closer  toGlenallen-uhen  they  were 
almost  there-peering  through  the  dark,  he  caught 
nmv  and   then  a   tleetmg   gl„„p,e  o(   the  scenes  of 
otncr  days  ;  fences  that  he  had  climbed  ;  eln.s  beneath 
whose  shelter  he  had  played  ;  braes  he  had  mamed 
and  burns  he  had  uaded  and  brooks  he  had  h.hed 
lie  smiled,  as  the  inward  pain  st.ll  smote  h.m  and  the 
urcadful  craving  burncd-it  seemed  all  but  impossible 
that  hfe   could  have  changed  so  much,  the  evening 
l^hadons  threatening  before  its  noon  had  come.     And 
he  »elr,  in  a  dim  unreasoning  uay-uhat  „ther  men 
have  fe  t-as  .f  he  had  been  somehou  tncked  out  of 
the  sweetness  of  youth,  its  glory  faded  and  U.  fruitage 
u-.thered  before  he  had  known  they  were  there. 
Ihe  streets    of  his  native  town  were  hushed  a^  he 

hurried   towards    his    home        V.-.ri.irr   ti,  .   .-       i 

'"""^-       -Neaniig   tlie   kuinhar 

^cene.  he  paused,  standing  still.  He  felt  a  kind  of 
awesome  fear  and  his  head  was  bowed  as  he  cn-pt 
close  to  the  humble  door.  Sud.Ienly  he  hfted  his 
cyevsurveying  the  well-remembered  outlines  through 
the  gloom.  And  suddenly  they  seemed  transfigure-.i 
belore  hmi.  speaking  out  their  welcome  in  tender 
■Mience  as  though  they  recognized  the  heart  sore 
^^•""Icrer.  It  was  with  little  difficultv  that  he  effected 
■•>"  entrance,  a  half-hulden  window  in  the  rear  yield- 
ing readily.  ^ 

llie  stillness  within  alm..st  overcame  him  Vet 
tliere  must  have  been  holy  power  in  it ;  for  the  evil 
sp.nt  thai  had  haunted  hmi  seemed  to  retreat  before 


364 


THE    IV EB    OF    ■[/ M  L 


I 


it ;   and   his   Rropinjj  eyes   fell  now  on  this  familiar 
thing  and  now  on  tiiat,  each  an  ally  to  liis  slru^'^Min" 
soul.     He   could   see   but   dimly,   but   they  were   all 
beautiful,  each  telling'  some  story  of  the  sacred  days 
that  would  come  no  more.     He  felt  his  way  tlirou^di 
the  httle  hall  into  tiie  room  where  he  had  last  looked 
upon    his  mother's  face.      He  stood  whcri;   he    had 
stood  before— and  he  looked  down.     Lonj,'  musiiifj, 
he  turned  a:id  made  his  way  up-stairs.     As  he  passed 
the   half-open   door  on   his   way,   he   c.uild  .see  the 
shadowy  outhnc  of  the  little  store,  as  Miss  Adair  had 
left  it   for  the  night,  the  petty  wares  consorting  ill 
with  the  significance   of  the  hour.     \'et  the  nobi'lity 
ot  all  for  which  it  stood  broke  afresh  upon  him. 
Ascending   the    creaking   stairs,  he  stopped   and 

listened.     It  seemed  as  if  some  voice  must  speak 

f(jr  silence  like  to  this  he  had  never  known  before. 
Jiut  all  was  still,  wondrously  still— this  was  the  silence 
of  death.     He   glanced  into  Jessie's  room  ;  relics  of 
her  so-e  toil  were  still  scattered  about ;  all  was  as  she 
had  left  it  when  she  had  started  on  her  visit  to  the  city. 
Then   he   entered  ;>is  mother's  room.     With  head 
bowed  low  and  with  noiseless  step,  as  devout  pilgrims 
invade  some  holy  shrine,  he  passed  within  the  door. 
Then  he  lifted  his  eyes—the  night  seemed  to  stay  its 
hand— and  he  could  see  hero  and  there  traces  of  his 
mother's  life,  many  of  t.ieni  undisturbed.     An  apron 
that  she  used  to  wear,  folded  now  anrl  spot'-jss  white, 
laid  asiiie  by  Jessie's   lovmg  hands  :  a  knitted  shawl 
that  had  so  often  enclosed  the  fragile  f'orm  ;  the  un- 
finished knitting  frorn  which  the  needles  should  never 


■^:.;.;?^:i . 


I 


3 


HAHi^EYS  UNSEEN  DELII/ERER        ,65 

bo  uitlKlraun.  Then  he  ^avc  a  ..cat  >tart.  .n.nin,-. 
a  cry-lur  i,c  thot.ght  he  sa-.v  a  face.  lU.t  ,t  ua>  h.s 
oun.  moving;  in  shadowy  whiteness  a.  he  pa.sed  the 
htlle  n.nror-he  n.arvelled  at  his  t.nnd.ty  am.d  .ucli 
scenes  of  love. 

He   .ank    on   the   bed   and   buried   h.s    face  in  h.s 
hands       He  was  tre.nbli„^^  yet  ..ot  with  fear.      lU.t 
soniethn,.:  see.ned  to  tell  hi.n  that  he  was  not  alone- 
no  te.npter.  no  turgid  appetite,  no  relentless  pa.sion' 
assa.l.d  h.n,   now.     He  was  safe,  he  felt,  like  son.e 
anc.cnt    fuj,Mtive    falli,.g    breathless    belo.c    a   sacred 
altar-but  he  felt  that  he  wa>  not  alone.     Son.e  u.,- 
scen^  power  see.ned  to  be  about  h.n..  a..  i.,nuence  su 
Kcnt.e,  a  caress  so  tender,  a  keepin^^  so  hoK-  ..  t,,,,,. 
could  not  prov.de.     He  did  not  .>cck  t-  .eaM,,.  u.th 
the  st.a..ge  se.isation.  or  to  solve,  or  to  defn.e  ;  but 
lu.  s,,ul  lay  op.M,  to  the  mystic  inlluence  in  helpless- 
ness and  hope,  the  ministrj-  of  the  awful  silence  hav- 
ing' Its  way  with  his  broken  and  baffled  life 

Almost  without  knowi.:^   it.  he  n-.e  and  n.ade  his 
^vay  to  the  little  table  by   the  window;  so.neth,n,. 
dark  lay  upon  it.     The  touch  told  hi.71  in  a  ..,-:—  t 
what    .t    was-his    .iiothers    liible.   that   Jessie   '.< 
besk^od  him  to  leave  for  he..      11,.  h,,nd  tren.bled  as 
"c  tooK  ,t  up  ;  it  opened  of  .tsell  a,..i  he  pee.ed  Jow..- 
^vard  on  the  well-wor.i  p.^^e.     I?ut  it  wa..  da,-k.  and 
'ic  could  only  see  enough  to  know  that  one  particular 
^erse    was    gently     u.iderscored.     Inunblin-    for    a 
match,  he  lit  it  and  its  glow  fell  upon  the  wo.'  '.  • 

■;  Lnto  Him  that  is  able  to  keep  you  from  fall.ng 
and  to  present  you  faultless." 


^ 


•THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 


tr  ' 


■  8 


'^ip 


The  mcs.->aj;e  flashed  upon  his  so'  '  with  the  import 
of  eternal  hope.  He  closed  the  book  violently,  as  it" 
sometiiinj^  might  escape,  and  sank  again  upon  the 
be  1.  He  felt  as  if  God  Himself  had  spoken  through 
the  shadows  and  the  silence.  His  face  was  again 
buried  in  iiis  haiuL,  but  his  heart  was  running  riot 
with  its  exuberance  of  feeling,  of  purpose,  of  hope 
from  far-off  founiaiub  fed.  There  gleamed  before 
him  a  virion  of  the  reality  o'  it  all,  the  real  truth  that 
a  worsted  heart  may  find  strength  somewhere  hi-her 
up.  away  beyoiid  this  scene  ol  human  struggle — and 
that  the  most  stained  and  wasted  life  might  yet  be- 
come a  holy  thing,  again  presented  to  the  great  God 
who-e  grace  had  saved  it,  a  faultless  life  at  last. 

Thus  he  sat.  nor  knew  how  long,  while  the  regen- 
erating moment^   flew.      He  wiis   -,    called  by  feeling 
something   fall  at  his  feet.     Stooping,  he  picked  it 
up;  it  was  a  letter,  fallen  from  tl-e  leaves  of  the  book 
he  lieid.     A  brief  search  revealed  a  candle  on  a  chair 
beside  the  bed.     This  he  lit,  holding  the  fitful  flame 
above  the  missive  now  spread  out  before  him.     The 
letter  was    from   his   mother  and  addressed   to  him. 
A  swift  look  at  the  date  explained  why  it  had  never 
been  sent — she  had  been  busy  with  it  when  he  had 
unexpect<(il\-  returned  the  night  of  Madeline's  party. 
His  e>es  burned  their  way  over  the  opening  senten- 
ces, all  uneven  as  they  were,  the  unsteady  hand  hav- 
ing found  its  c^  ,rse  as  be-^t  it  could.     And  the  "entle 
epistle  had  conie  to  a     ..dden  close — tlie  letter  had 
never  been  comple'    '■      Hut  his  eyes  were  fixed  in 
almost    fierce  intensity  upon  the  la  f   wf>rds — prob- 


HARyEY  S  UXSEEN  DELI^EKER        367 

ably  the  last  the  dear  hand  had  ever  written.  •-  And 
Inx  prayni-.  my  .on."  thus  ran  the  ^reat  assurance, 
".i^  I  shall  never  cease  to  pray,  that  I{e  uill  make 
J  lis  ^race  sufficient  tor  yuu  and  that     .     .     ." 

He  an.     ,   lecallin-  where  hi.  mother  was  wont  to 
pray.     Had  she   nut   told   him.  and   had   Je>..e  not 
spoken  of  it  often  ?     IJoide  In.  ow..  bed.  he  knew- 
there,  where  he  once  had  slept  the  sieei.  uf  chil.Ihood 
in  the  innocent  and  happy  days  of  yore;  there  had 
been  her  altar,  where,  kneeliii-  before  (}od.  she  had 
pleaded  that  the  keei)in-  and  ^'uidancc  of  the  Hi^Mi- 
cst  might  be  V(juch..afed  her  absent  son.      I  hither  he 
turned  his  .step.>,  his  heart  allame  within  hini  ;  rrie 
liand    still    held    his   mother'^   Jhble.  the  other  the 
precious  letter.     And  he  laid  them   both  before  the 
Throne,  sacred  thin-s.  familiar  to  the  all-seeinj^  liye, 
plcd<,-es  of  a  faith  that  must  not  be  .     nied. 

The  silence  still  reigned  about  tlie  bended  form 
But  it  was  vocal  with  unspoken  vow~.  the  vuws  of  a 
"^oul  that  unseen  hands,  waited  once  and  worn  but 
radiant  now  and  beautiful,  had  beckoned  to  the 
Mercy  Seat.  He  could  lUJt  see  the  bending  face  ;  he 
o.uld  not  know  the  exultation  of  the  triumphant 
one  -but  he  knew  that  the  dear  spirit  shared  with 
him  the  rapture  of  that  hour  when  his  mother's 
; 'ravers  were  answered,  when  his  soul  came  back  to 
God. 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1.0 


145 


2.8 


1^   Ik 
us, 


lAO 


I.   ^ 


Z5 
2.2 


2.0 


1.8 


^  ^PPi-IED  IM/IGE     Inc 

^^  1653   East    Uam   Streft 

S^S  Rochester,    Ne*   York         14609       USA 

'.SZS  (716)    482  -  0300  -  Phone 

=  (7t6)    288  -  5989  -  Fox 


XXXIII 
PLAIN   LINING   AND   HIGH    THINKING 

THE    day    slipped    past    in    quiet  solitude, 
marked  by  the  peace  of  penitence  and  in- 
ward    chastening;    convalescence    is    the 
sweetest  experience  of  the  soul  and  the  outlook  to 
the  eternal  is  its  rest.     Harvey  felt  in  no  hurry  to 
leave    the  pavilion-home,  thronged  as  it  was   with 
blessed   memories.     But  when   the   evening   fell,   a 
curious  eagerness  quickened  his  steps  towards  David 
Borland's  altered  home.     He  had  not  visited  it  before. 
Drawing  near,  the  first  figure  he  descried  was  that 
of  David  himself,  engaged  in  the  very  diminutive 
garden    that    lay  beside   the   house.     He   had   not 
noticed  Harvey's  approach.     A  shade  of  pain  dark- 
ened the  eye  of  the  younger  man  as,  unobserved,  he 
took  a  keen  survey  of  the  older  face.     For  not  alone 
was  David  more  thin  and  worn ;  his  cheeks  had  lost 
their  colour,  pinched  and   pale,  and  it  required  no 
special  acuteness  to  detect  how  changed  he  was  from 
the  robust  David  of  former  years.     Suddenly  lifting 
his  head,  Mr.  Borland  saw  Harvey  close  at  hand ;  he 
dropped  the  light  tool  he  was  holding,  hurrying  to 
greet  the  visitor. 

"  You're   as  welcome  as  a  registered  letter,"  he 

368 


^::^^mummr^-^''mmiemm 


he 


PLAIN  HIDING  AND  HIGH  THINKING  369 
cried  in  his  old  hearty  way;  «  come  on  an'  sit  dou  n 
-there  s  not  un'  tastes  so  ^ood  n.  a  neu-  house  as  an 
old  (r.end.  1  ve  been  hu.genn'  for  a  mouthful  of 
ou.  I  was  jest  dom'  a  Httle  work,-  he  explamed- 
"  when  a  fellow's  got  to  work  hard,  nothin   nukes  it 

ome  flowers,  he  went  on,  pomting  to  a  tiny  bed  • 
noth.n  pays  like  flowers_,t  pays  bctLer  than 
manufactunn'.  I  think  sometin,es.  H,.,  sit  beside 
me  on  the  bench."  for  David  seemed  wHling  to  rest 
"Hows  Jess.e?"  he  asked  presently,  his  general 
observations  concluded  ^ 

m^'kX.i'""'"^"   "^™^-   "'""■^  ^-'-s 

Harvey  pronounced  a  eulogy. 
"  She's  an  old  maid,  ain't  she  ?  " 

ra;L's:reT;r'''  ^^" '" '""  ■■■  ''■"  ""-^'^ 

^LT'nT^-  ""  "'■"■"  °™''  "="^^^  "im  ; .. ,  don', 
mean  no  disrespect.  Most  old  maids  is  reirXir 
angeis_„ith  variations.     I  often  tell  the  m  ssus  i    I 

respect  for  her-there's   nothin'  like  an  encor,-  to 
how  you  ve    enjoyed    the  first  perforraa„ce_an'  I 
ahvays  say  I'd  take  an  old  maid.     Of  course   I  mL, 
chanije  mv  minH  "  n,    j  i-ourse,  i  niiglit 

old  fools  L.,  "'-■"'  ""  K^^'^'y ;  "  most 

Slows  th.r     ";        r\     """'  '''-'  "°"==''  how  the 
lellous  that  yelps  the  loudest  at  the  funeral  begins 


}lo 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


mmx-i[ 


takin'  notice  the  soonest — they  don't  most  gen'rally 
stay  in  long  for  repairs,"  he  concluded  solemnly, 
scraping  the  clay  from  his  boot-heel  as  he 
spoke. 

"  If  Miss  Farringall's  an  old  maid,"  Harvey  re- 
sumed, "she's  one  of  the  nicest  I  ever  knew— and 
one  of  the  happiest  too,  I  think." 

"  Old  maids  is  pretty  much  all  happy,"  pronounced 
David,  "  that  is,  when  they  stop  strugglin' — but  most 
of  'em  dies  hard.  They'd  all  be  happy  if  they'd  only 
do  what  I  heard  a  preacher  advisin'  once.  I  was 
mad  as  a  hatter,  too." 

"  What  about?"  asked  Harvey  wonderingly. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  It  was  at  a  funeral  in  a 
church — last  year,  1  think — an'  after  the  service  was 
over  he  came  out  to  the  front  o'  the  pulpit.  •  The 
congregation  '11  remain  seated,'  says  he,  '  till  the 
casket  has  went  down  the  aisle ;  then  the  mourners 
will  follow,  an'  the  clergy  '11  follow  them.  After  that,' 
says  he,  '  after  that,  the  congregation  will  quietly 
retire.'  Quietly,  mind  you  !  "  said  David  sternly  ; 
"  did  he  think  we  was  goin'  to  give  three  cheers  for 
tile  cornse,  I  wonder  ?  "  and  he  looked  earnestly  at 
Harvey  for  approval  of  his  indignation.  "  But  I've 
often  thought,  jest  the  same,  how  much  happier 
everybody'd  be,  'specially  old  maids,  if  they'd  only 
retire  quietly." 

"  I'll  have  to  tell  that  to  the  editor  of  the  funny 
column,"  Harvey  said  when  his  composure  had  re- 
turned ;  "  and  I'll  send  it  on  to  you  when  it  appears 
in  the  Ar^^us." 


PLAIN  LiyiNG  AND  HIGH  THINKING    37. 

"I'm    a   sub^cnbcr   to    that   paper    nou/'    David 

.  :d  co,npI.u:cntly  ;  <•  hou-  're  you  gcttn.'  alon,  ?_,,,-, 

the  editin   business  pretty  good  ?  "  *>  ^ 

"iMnc-   Harvey  assured^um' cordially      Tlien  he 

old,  a.   .nodestly  as   he  could,   of  what  succe...   he 

had  achieved  and  of  his  prospects  of  promotion 

-Where   yuu   got  the  start  u-as   goin'   into   it  as 
soon  as   you   left  school,"    David  averred  ,••  there's 
"otbn    liL-e  gettin-  at  your  uork  early,     'lliat  s  u  1^^ 
I  advise  gettin    up  a  little  afore  day-for  other  folks. 
\  ou  see,  you  11  get  the  hang  of  it^of  editin',  I  mean 
-afore  you  re  set  in  your  uays.     If  y,>u  want  to 
succeed  these  da3-s.  you've  got  to  take  time  bj-  the 
fetlock,  as  one  of  them  old  philosophe-s  said.     That's 
what  makes  all  the  difference  betuecn  tuo  fellow.- 
one  11    waste   his    time  gallivantin'   round,  wlnle  the' 
other,  learn.n  all  about  his  business  an'  gettin'  readv 
for  somethin'  big      Now    tlirr,.'-  ,  T-      ,    .^'^'^>^ 

ui;^.     -1^1  ou,  there  .s  poor  Cecil,  for  in - 
stance-you  ve  heard  what's  come  o'  Ccrd  >  " 

^;  No  ••  answered  Harvey,  sitting  up  very  straight. 
^  No.  I_  haven  t  heard  anything-has  an^-thing  hV 

"Oh.  nothin'   terrible    important.     Only  he's    off 
Mr   Afnca-went    last   week.     He    was    foolin'    an' 
fidJhn    round,  spongin'   on    his   father-an'   he  <..t 
nito  one  or  two  little  scrapes.     An'  his  father  kuKpo' 

of  a  job  with  some  company  that's  buildin'  a  railroad 
I'!"  somethin'  in  Soutli  Africa.     An'  the  old  man  l.t 
"■■n  go_.o  he's  gone,"  David  concluded  earnr^Mv 
•an   I   reckon   punchin'  mules  is  about   the  hi.dic<t 


'■iifc^ 


372 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


i  I !: 

Ifilif 


\i  % 


position  o'^  tnust  he'll   be  occupyin'.     Lc.'s  go  into 
the  house." 

"  Is  Cecil  goin^^  to  stay  long  in  Africa?"  Harvey 
asked  as  they  walked  along. 

"He  won't  hkely  be  back  to  tea  very  often," 
ventured  David.  "Jemima!  I'm  so  short  in  the 
wind  now,"  his  breath  coming  fast.  "  I  don't  much 
calculate  l.e'U  be  back  till  the  walkin's  good— unless 
the  old  man  fetches  him,"  a  droll  smile  showing  on 
David's  face,  as  they  entered  the  little  house. 

"  Sorry  Madelines  not  in,"  Mr.  Borland  began  as 
he  sank  into  a  chair  ;  •'  she  works  pretty  steady  now, 
poor  child— they  say  she's  a  reg'lar  dabster  at  that 
wood-work.  She  paints  chiny  too,"  he  went  on, 
pride  in  the  voice—"  I  think  she's  out  at  Hyman's, 
burnin'  it,  this  evenin'.  Sit  down,  Harvey,"  motion- 
ing towards  a  chair,  for  his  guest  was  standing  in  a 
spasm  of  attentiveness.  "  It's  a  bit  different  from 
the  old  place,  ain't  it  ?  "  as  he  looked  round  the 
humble  room. 

"  It's  just  as  good,"  said  Harvey  bluntly,  rather  at 
a  loss. 

"  That's  where  you'-  shoutin',"  David  responded, 
something  of  his  old-time  vigour  in  the  tone.  "  It's 
jest  every  bit  as  good.  When  I'm  settin'  here  in  the 
evenin'— I  don't  work  so  very  hard  ;  they  gave  me  a 
nice  easy  job  at  the  office— an'  Madeline's  puttin'  on 
my  slippers  or  runnin'  her  fingers  round  my  old  gray 
head,  when  I  shut  my  eyes  I  can't  tell  the  difference. 
Never  did  set  in  only  one  chair,"  he  mused  as  if  to 
himself,  "  never  did  wear  but  one  pair  o'  slippers. 


\m 


:i4*-  \^:^ 


PLAIX  LiyiNG  AND  HIGH  JHIXKIXG  ,73 
never  d,d  have  but  one  Madei.nc  to  cure  ,ny  h.ad- 
a^I>-  an  rny  heartache  au'  evcrytlnn'  l.l.c  that. 
An  1  hke  the  lamp  better',,  tiie  old  .ulky  -a.-u,' 
we've  5,rot  the  be.t  pu.np  i,)  the  county,"  he  ue„t  on 
enthu.s,asl,caUy_..  ri.I,t  out  there;  ,t  s  ,ar  better,, 
the^^oM    tap     u-ater.       So     .e',.     ,e.    a.     happy. 

Harvey  s,n,Ied,  and  lovin.o;!)-.  at  tl,e  bea„,i„  .  Ucc 
"An     1   can  p,-ove  ,t,"  the   old    ,naa  suddeniv  .e- 

T:T\,  :  ;  "r  J^'-"-  '^•"  '-■  -Pcated  eagerly, 
bee  tl,at  fl,-eplace  there?  '  po.ntin.  to  the  hea,-th 
on  u  uch  the  uood  u-as  already  laid.  ••  Put  a  n,atch 
to  ,t,  larvey-youVe  yonngcv  than  me.  Set  it 
ago.n  ,  Ha,-vey.  an'  I'll  show  you-if.  gctt.n'  coohsh. 

llarvcy  d,d  as  directed.  Tl,e  shavings  led  the 
na,„e  upward  to  the  ii.tle  twigs,  and  the  twigs  I.ur- 
rn-i  .t  on  to  tl,e  willing  cedar,  and  the  cedar  lit  the 
>ay  to  the  gnarled  pine  knots  ;  these  opened  their 
bosoms  to  the  name  and  soon  the  leaping  tongu 
be^an   thetr   glad   crusade   against   the'  shadow! 

h  I   Tnf  "^       '"'  ''°""''  """'""^  ""=  —'  "it" 
iij^ht  and  music. 

'•The,-e!"  cried   David  jubilantly.     ..Tell  me  the 

■'^.ence  ,f  you  can-ain't  that  the  very  same  as  it 

u-d  to  be  ,n  the  great  big  house  ?     Didn't  I  tell  vou 

could  p,-ove  it  ?_there  ain't  no  difference,  Darvln- ; 

>t.s  je.st   the  very  .same,"  he  ,-cpeated  once  again,  rc- 

jo.cng  ,n  the  great  truth  he  found  so  difficuk  to  ex- 

bZe '-/'"'   '''''    -'-t  I  aluays  trained  myself  to 
btl.eve.    he  went  on  after  a  long  pause.     ..  I  ahvaj-s 


^ 

^ 


.  !' 


it 


I  ; 


.^74 


■THE    WEB    OF    -TIME 


believed  in  simple  livin -even  wlicn  I  had  lots  o 
clm,;ce  the  ether  way.  D.dn't  I,  Harvey?"  h( 
pursued,  gazing   into  the   others  eyes  through   th< 

••  That  you  did,  Mr.  Borland/'   Harvej^   affirmed, 
And  thats  uhy  .t  comes  so  easy  to  you  now." 
"  Ihat  was  how  I  knew  poor  Mr.  Craig  uas  on  the 
wrong     tack,'-     David     pursue  J     thoughtfully      ..J 

sTaTted     '".r  "r   ","°"  "  they  began;  when  he 
started   callm  h.s  sideboard  a  •  buffy  '-an'  when  he 
began   sayin'  '  blue  manre '  instead  o'  cornstarch  •  I 
heard    hmi    at  his   own  table-an'   callin'  •  Johnny- 
cake    corn-cake-an-  referrin'  to  the  cuspidor  when 
he    meant   a  spittoon-when  he  began   them   tony 
names,  I   knew  it  was  all  up  with  poor  Mr.  Craig 
When    a  man  gets  so  dainty  that   his  hor.es  stop 
sweatm  an'  begin  perspirin'.  he  ain't  much  good  for 
common    folks    after    that.     That's  why  Mr.  Crai^i 
wanted  so  bad   to   be  mayor-jest   that  buffy  idea 
same  thing,"  David  explained  pityingly.     «  An'  then 
.t  wasn't  long   till  he  made  the  foolishest  break  of 
all.     he  went  on  ;  '•  d'ye   know  what  it  was  ?  '    as  he 
looked  enquiringly  at  Harvey  ;  "  you'd  never  guess  " 
"  Ao  idea,"  admitted  Harvey. 
"  Well,  he  began  takin'  his  dinner  at  supper  time 
Leasiwaj-s,    he    began    callin'    it    dinner-an'   if.    a 
terrible   bad  sign  when  a  fellow  begins  takin'  dinner 
when   the  dew's   fallin'.     His  old  father  used  to  say  : 
Veil.  I   reckon   it's  time  to   feed  again.'  but  Craig 
aUvays  said  he  guessed  he'd  have  to  go  home  to  din- 
ner-an   he    wasn't    never  the  same  man   after  he 


iiKiJi 


J^ 


PLAIS  Uy,^G  ^,v,j  Hi^^  TH/XK/XG    „, 
bosun     ,l,at     k,„J    ,y    fo„iW,„,„"    ,j,„.,.      .,       ' 
5er,ou,-iy.     ..TI,.    o„ly    „tlu-,     „  ,„  ''""■■'' 

callin'  v,pp„  d,„„„  4  ,",,■■'        -:-   I'-rd 
Neil-   York.     Hu  1,„1   ,         '"'"'^'^  "^1' l^''l>'iv  m.n, 

Joseph;  •,,.„,i^l:;;;■"-7•^.-."^.u. 

mournfully.  •     ^'^^' J  concluded 

i.eiaau:,4;;:-^-^"^— "^••^'^■'Wl.uM.^- 
-pi/cd:  '-'a„' 1°',!  Tr^'  "■^■"'  '"■''  "^>- ■  "--T 

.be    businc:'    'xLy'tVlrf'^''"  "-«'■'■"- 

chanse  l.a„ds-but  that  iv     ■,  ^ '-T   "   «"'"^   '" 
ail."  "  '  """•■'-•'  my  position  at 

"  '^'.y  you  couldn't  "et  i-Iin),i  ..c  -^  -      ■  . 
Oont  never  h.  ^  "■^' ''''°"'  "'^'-  "'y  boy. 

fa.^../>rthLtTru"^rr,*T''^°"^-^ 

through  a  lelloii.',  L  .  '*'  ''''"■''>''  ^''P' 

up  on  it      r  f"  ■■"  ""■'  '■''■''•-^"  '>•'"'>-  ^'et  set 

there  ,  ;"  ^°""'  '"  ^'--  '•"'  "I''  <"'"  ""«•  •  '^.u'  'f 

•  beiieie  :vt:  n,w        t"'  """"■  '"  ""  °" "  '™*- 
'hafs  laid  outTor T":.'^!'  "'T"  "."  "^  '™-'able 


iini;  an'  lic'll  snoil 


!i  everythin'  if  I 


DC 


n,  ;■ 


.1  ri  H 


376 


7/y£    [f^£fi    Of    TIME 


tries  too  much  to  interfere.  Often  we  think  we're 
terrible  smart.  An'  mcbbe  we  are— but  we  find  out 
sooner  or  later  we've  ^'ot  to  walk  the  plank,  an'  it's 
queer  how  we  get  jockeyed  jest  when  we  tinnk  we're 
at  the  winnin'  post.  We're  pretty  hand}-  with  the 
rod  an'  the  reel— but  God  handles  the  'landin'-nct 
Himself.  That's  why  the  biggest  ones  most  gen'raliy 
always  get  away,"  and  David  nodded  his  head  seri- 
ously as  he  peered  into  Harvey's  eyes. 

"  I'd  soo..er  win  along  other  lines  than  that."  mused 
Harvey. 

"  Than  what  ?  " 

"  Than  the  money  way      That  isn't  everything." 

"  That  there  was  a  beautiful  thing  you  done  in  the 
cemetery,"  David  digressed  suddenly.  "  That  there 
was  high  finance." 

"  What  ?  "  asked  the  bewildered  Harvey. 

"  You  know,"  said  the  other—"  your  mou  's 
gravestone.  I  didn't  know  nothin'  about  it  till 
Madeline  took  some  flowers  out  one  evenin'.  That 
was  lovely,  Harvey." 

Harvey's  voice  was  thick.  "That  was  the  first 
money  I  ever  saved,  Mr.  Borland,"  he  said  after  a 
long  silence  ;   "  the  only  mone}'  I  ever  saved." 

"  Savin's  like  them  is  holy,"  David  said  simply. 
"  An'  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  somethin',  Harvey,"  as 
he  braced  himself  for  the  purpose.  "  An'  I'm  goin' 
to  trust  you  not  to  tell  any  one— not  any  one  in  the 
world." 

Harvey  turned  to  gaze  into  the  earnest  face. 

"  I   don't  know  jest  why  it  should  be  so  hard  to 


"mm-^- 


iMw^ii^m^j^MS^:-' 


^^^m 


PLAIN  LINING  AND  HIGH  THINKING    377 
tell,"  David  l--an  calmly.     ••  j^it  it\  thi.-,,  Har^cy_ 
iny  days  je.t  about  dunc-I   a.n't  -oin'  tc,  be  here 
much  longer.   Harvey.     X...  dont  no^v.  pk:..c;'  he 
pleaded  a.s  he  stretched  out  his  hand  toward;  the  hvid 
>outh,  already  leaping  to  h,s  feet.     "  Don't,  Harvev 
don't-but   it's    true.     An"    I've    known    ,t   a   good 
while   now;  fl-.c  doctor  told  me  long  ago."  he  con- 
tmued  calmly.     '<  My  old  heart  thinks  it's  jest  about 
qu.ttm'  tmie.  it  seems.     An'  I  don't  blame  it  a  terri- 
ble lot-.t's  had  a  long  day's  work,  an'  1  reckon  it's  a 
good   deal   like   me,  kind  o'  ready  tor   its  rest  '  the 
tired  voice  went  on.     •.  That's  where  the  trouble  ,s 
anyhow,"  he  affirmed  placidly,  '•  but  I  ne\er  told  no-' 
body—a  fellow  ought  to  burn  his  own  smoke,  I  think 
an   not  let  it  trouble  other  people,     liut  I've  told  you' 
now.  IIarvey_so  you  'von't  be  so  terrible  surprised 
when     .     .     .     And  besides,"  his  voice  breakin-  for 
the  first  time,  "  besides-I  wanted  to  tell  you  some- 
tlini  else,  my  boy_I  wanted  to  tell  x'ou—how-how 
much    I    loved  j-ou,    Harvey-for    fear_for    fe.r    I 
m'SlUn't  h-       another  chance,"  as  the  tired  f-^ce  went 
downwara   .,.  his  hands,  the  l„,t  tears  trickling  be- 
tween the  fingers  that  were  so  thin  and  worn. 

The  room  was  hushed  in  nlcice  as  Harvey's  tear- 
stained  face  was  bowed  beside  his  friend.  He  spoke 
no  word,  a'  1  no  touch  of  tenderness  was  felt  except 
the  slow  tightening  of  his  arm  about  the  furrowed 
n;-ck,  holding  the  .jnivenng  form  close  in  strong  and 
S'lent  tondness.  Davi.l  spoke  at  length.  «  I  want 
you  to  come  along  with  me,  Harvey." 

"  Where  .3"   Harvey  asked  in  a  startled  voice. 


;j 


•■S^i 


mT2 


378 


THE    IVER    OF    TIME 


Hilt 


;iiiii 


1' 


if 

mm 

^f 

ilHW 

■  t 

iH« 

,1 

raHH 

\  1 

ffli 

m 

11 

"  Oh,  not  there,"  said  DaviJ,  smihng.  "  You 
thouj^ht  I  meant  the  long,  long  road.  No,  not  that ; 
but  I'm  goin'  to  the  communion,  Harvey — that's 
what  I  meant — I'm  goin'  to  join  the  church.' 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  Harvey  alter  a  long  stilhiess. 

"  I  nearly  joined  once  afore,"  David  went  on. 
"  I  reckon  you  remember  when  I  had  that  meetin' 
with  the  elders — kind  o'  run  agin  a  snag,  I  did.  An' 
mebbe  I  ain't  much  worthier  yet — but  I  see  it  differ- 
ent. I  ain't  much  of  a  Christian,  I  know — but  I'm  a 
kind  of  a  sinner  saved  by  grace.  An'  I'd  kind  o' 
like  to  own  up  in  front  of  everybody  afore — afore  it's 
too  late,"  he  said,  his  voice  almost  inaudible. 

"  When  ?  "  asked  Harvey. 

"  Next  Sunday,"  answered  David.  "  Hut  I  didn't 
go  up  agin  the  elders  this  time,  mind  you — I 
wouldn't,"  he  went  on  stoutly.  "  It  seems  to  me  a 
fellow  ain't  no  more  called  on  to  tell  a  lot  of  elders — 
human  elders — about  them,  thin^, .,  an'  his  soul,  than 
he  is  to  tell  'em  about  his  love-makin' ;  so  I  jest 
went  to  Dr.  Fletcher,  an'  I  told  him  what  I  felt  about 
— about  Christ — an'  I  said  I  felt  like  I'd  had  a  bid  from 
some  One  higher  up.  An'  Dr.  Fletcher  said  no  elder 
wasn't  to  have  a  look-in  this  time.  So  I'm  goin', 
Harvey — a"'  it'*^  '  i  an  awful  comfort  if  you  an'  me 
went  together.  It's  quite  a  spell  since  you  was  there, 
ain't  it,  Harvey?" 

The  fire  had  gone  out  upon  the  hearth.  And 
Harvey  spoke  never  a  word  amid  the  thickening 
gloom. 


XXX  rv 

•THE    O^ERl  LOIVING    HOUR 

THE  light  had  almost  laded  from  the  ^ky  and 
the  ahhy  shadows  were  sctthii^'  down 
about  Glenallen  as  Harvey  strode  towards 
one  of  the  hills  that  kept  their  ancient  watch  about 
t!ie  town.  He  did  not  know  whither  his  course  was 
tending ;  nor  did  he  greatly  care,  for  many  and  con- 
flicting were  the  thoughts  that  employed  him  as  he 
walked. 

Still  fresh  and  vivid,  almost  overpowering  some- 
times, was  his  sense  of  loss  and  shame.      'he  defile- 
ment of  his  besetting  sin,  and  the  hum      aon  of  a 
life  so  nearly  honeycombed,  and  the  tru^edy  of  a 
will  so  nearly  sold  to  slavery— all  these  had  their 
stern  influence  on  his  soul.     The  bruised  and  beaten 
past  rose  afresh  before  him  ;  and  if  ever  human  heart 
felt  its   own  weakness,  and   human   life   its  own  un- 
worthiness,  it  was  as   Harvey  Simmons  climbed  that 
solitary  hill   amid    the    deepening   dusk.     Mingling 
with  his  sense  of  shame  was  the  realization  of  all  that 
It  must  cost  him — for  his  manhood  would  refuse  to 
claim  what  only  a  worthier  manhood  could  fairly  win. 
Passing  strange  it  was  that  at  that  very  moment, 
the     moment    of     true     self-reprc  ich     and    humil- 
iation, his    roving  eyes  should  suddenly  have  been 

379 


iS^S_ 


380 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


%  i 


startled  as  tliey  fell  on  two  white-clad  fij^furcs  that 
were  climbing;  the  hill  behind  him.  One  ol  them  he 
recc).i,niizcd  in  an  instant— it  was  Madeline— and  his 
heart  almost  tri^'litened  him,  so  violently  did  it  leap. 
He  stru^r^riL.J  to  repress  the  risini;  tide— fur  the  test 
had  come  sooner  than  he  thought — but  a  thrill  of 
passion  swept  throuj^^ii  all  his  frame. 

Yet  his  resolve  strengthened  in  his  heart— the 
purp  jse  that  had  been  formmg  within  him  through 
man\'  days.  The  resolve  of  a  hero,  too,  it  was ;  and 
the  native  strength  of  the  man  flowed  anew,  stern 
and  unconquerable,  as  he  made  the  great  renuncia- 
tion. Not  that  he  loved  the  less  ;  the  more,  ral.er. 
And  not  because  he  doubted  that  her  heart  answered, 
if  perhaps  less  ardently,  to  his  own.  He  saw  again, 
as  he  had  never  ceased  to  see,  the  withered  flowers 
in  her  hand.  That  picture  he  had  cherished  ever 
since,  deep  hidden  in  his  deepest  heart — patiently 
waiting,  till  his  achievements  and  his  station  should 
warrant  him  to  come  back  and  drink  to  all  eternit}- 
where  he  had  but  sipped  before. 

He  knew  now  that  this  should  never  be.  He 
thought,  and  swift  and  lurid  was  the  image,  of  his  own 
father,  and  of  his  mother's  broken  heart,  and  of  the 
baneful  legacy  that  had  been  his  own — and  of  the 
shrouded  chapter  that  had  been  so  carefully  kept 
from  him,  tight  shut  like  the  chamber  of  the  dead. 
He  knew,  besides  all  this,  that  he  loved  too  well  to 
offer  Madeline  a  life  that  was  not  intrinsically  worthy  ; 
if  accounted  worthy,  it  could  only  be  by  the  she'ter 
of  a  living  lie.     Thus  was  his  resolve  taken,  anguish- 


•The    O^ERFLOIVING    HOUR      38, 
burn       ^-.t    h.    lu.n,eri„,    h.art    cri.d    out  that  it 
c.H  d  no     .0  n.  way  in  .Ucncc-tlns  luxury  at  'cu 
•t  c  anncd.  to  tdl  ,t.s  story  and  to  say  farcu  cil 

He  turned  and  made  his  ua)-  dounuard  to  the  ap- 
proach.ng  pa,r.     Lifting  h...  hat  as  he  came  clo.e   1^ 
poke  Madehne-s  name  and  ^tood  still.     Ilersurp;.! 
cen,ed   to   seal   her   hps   at    fir.t,  but   he   c.n.ld  see 
tlH-ou.,h  the  ,loanun.  uhat  inlla-ned  lus  heart afre.h. 
1    heard  you  were   in    Glenallen,"  her  low  voice 
began.  .<  but  I  didn't  expect  to  see  y.,.     When  did 
youcomeP     Oh.  pardon  me.  let  me  introduce  y^    to 
my  mend,    as  she  spoke  her  companions  nan.e 

He   removed  his   hat  again  and  bowed.     One  or 
tu'o  commonplaces  i)assed. 

;;  ""^y":'^  "''^  ^'^"  Soing  ?  ••  Harvey  asked  abruptly. 
\^  e  re  gomg  to  see  a  little  girl  that's  sick  ;  she 

rr,  .^!^f  t  [!^'-'"  ^^^'^  "-  town.     She's  o^e  of 
n^>    clas.,    Madelme  explained.  ••  and   I  asked   Miss 
i^rodie  to  accon^pany  me-n,y  friend   lives   in  that 
house  yonder-  pointing  to  a  residence  near  the  fo; 
of  the  hill;.,  u  gets  dark  so  earlv  now" 
"  I  11  go  with  you  mx-self,"  said  Harvev 

^^J^  W1,at?  "was  all   Madehn.  said,  hirvo-ceun- 

"I'll    go  with    you    myself."  he  repeated;  -Miss 
Brod.e  won't  mind-we'll  see  her  home  first.     I  wi  h 
o  speak  w.th  you,"  and  without  further  explanation 
l>e  turned  to  lead  the  way  to  Miss  Brodie's  iL.e 

Madehnes    protest    came,    but    it  was    weak   and 
-n.bhng.     And  her  companion  spoke  no  word  ex 
cqn  to  g.ve  assent.     For  there  seemed  to  be  some 


382 


THE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


strange  authority  about  the  silent  man  ;  something  in 
his  voice,  or  manner,  or  in  the  drawn  face  that  looked 
into  the  distance  through  the  fading  light.  They 
could  not  tell ;  but  they  followed  as  he  led.  Made- 
line's hand  trembled  as  it  made  its  way  into  her 
friend's  ;  a  moment  later  she  withdrew  it,  walking  on 
alone.  But  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  the  move- 
ment of  that  eternal  mystery  that  so  many  a  maiden's 
heart  has  known,  that  none  has  ever  solved.  And 
her  eyes  were  moist  and  dim,  she  knew  not  why ; 
and  now  and  then  a  strange  quiver  shook  the  grace- 
ful form,  protesting,  reluctant,  half-rebellious,  yet  at 
lIic  mercy  of  something  she  could  neither  fathom  nor 

deny. 

Bidding  Miss  Brodie  good-night,  they  retraced 
their  steps  and  pressed  on  towards  the  outskirts  of 
the  town.  Perhaps  both  wondered  why  they  walked 
so  fast,  Madeline  wondering,  indeed,  why  she  walked 
at  all.  But  there  was  something  indescribably 
sweet  about  the  strange  mastery  in  which  he  seemed 
to  hold  her— and  her  eyes  smiled,  though  she  was 
trembling,  as  she  looked  ahead  into  the  waiting 
shadows. 

"  That's  the  house."  These  were  the  first  words 
that  broke  the  stillness,  and  they  came  from  ]Made- 
hne's  lips—"  that's  where  she  lives,"  pointing  to  a 
distant  light. 

"  Who  ?  "  and  Harvey  turned  his  eyes  upon  her. 

«'  The  child  I'm  going  to  see — I  told  you." 

Silence  still:  and  still  they  walked  on  together. 
Once  she  stumbled  over  an  uneven  plank.     Hi^  hand 


■The    OyERFLOlVING    HOUR        383 

went  out  swiftly  to  her  arm,  and  as  he  touched  it  his 
whole  frame  swayed  towards  her.  In  an  instant  his 
hand  was  withdrawn;  but  not  before  a  faint  out- 
break flowed  from  her  lips.  He  looked  down  at  her 
through  the  darkness— her  face  was  deadly  white. 

"  I  don't  believe  I'll  go,"  she  said  weakly  ;  ••  I'll  go 
to-morrow." 

He  pointed  into  the  darkness.  "  I  want  to  speak 
with  you,"  he  said,  striding  on. 

A  little  murmur  surged  to  her  lips.  She  checked 
it.  "Will  you  wait  for  me— till  I  come  jut,  Har- 
vey ?  "  the  last  word  coming  slow. 

"  I  can't." 

"  What  ?  "  she  said,  her  tone  firmer,  her  pace  abat- 
ing. 

"  I  cannot  wait,"  he  said;  "  you  can't  go  in  till- 
after." 

She  cast  a  swift  glance  upwards— but  his  ej-es  were 
forward  bent.  He  pressed  swiftly  on.  She  walked 
beside  him. 

Suddenly  he  paused,  then  stood  still.  He  listened 
intently ;  no  sound  but  the  desultory  barknig  of  a 
distant  watch-dog.  He  looked  about-and  the  voice- 
less night  seemed  to  contain  no  other  but  those 
twain.  He  could  see  the  blinking  light  in  the  win- 
dow, the  one  Madeline  had  pointed  to ;  it  made  the 
solitude  deeper,  like  a  far-off  gleam  at  sea. 

"  Let  us  go  in  here  and  sit  down,''  he  said,  point- 
ing towards  a  little  clearance  under  the  shadow  of  two 
spreading  oaks  that  towered  above  an  intervening 
thicket. 


384 


THE    WEB    OF   -TIME 


\\  ■ 


They  ste[)ped  down  from  the  rickety  sidewalk. 
And  they  crossed  the  dusty  road,  neither  speakinj^ ; 
and  the  dew  gUstened  on  their  feet  as  they  went  on 
into  the  thickening  grass — and  i\Iade!ine  could  hear 
her  poor  heart  beating,  but  she  uttered  never  a 
word. 

It  is  the  glory  of  a  strong  woman  that  she  some- 
times may  be  weak;  nay,  that  she  must  be,  by  very 
token  of  her  strength.  For  her  strength  hath  its 
home  in  love  and  in  her  capacity  to  love — there  is 
her  crown  and  there  the  well-spring  of  her  beauty 
and  her  charm.  Yet  this  knows  its  highest  strength 
in  we:ikness ;  and  its  victory  is  in  surrender.  And 
the  greatest  moment  in  the  life  of  the  noblest  woman 
is  when  convention  and  propriety  and  custom — and 
the  tyranny  of  the  social  code — yea,  when  even  her 
ow^n  native  pride,  her  womanly  reticence,  her  insist- 
ence on  all  that  a  woman  may  demand,  are  defiantly 
renounced ;  when  these  all  lie  in  ruins  at  her  feet, 
scorned  and  forgotten  by  reason  of  the  torrent  of  her 
love;  when  beauty's  tresses  lie  dishevelled,  and  its 
robes  of  dignity  are  stained  with  tears,  then  is 
woman's  wild  eternal  heart  at  its  very  noblest  in  all 
the  abandon  of  the  passion  that  sets  it  free  from 
every  tie  save  one. 

Wherefore  Madeline — she  of  the  beauteous  face 
and  of  the  snow-white  heart — went  on  with  Harvey 
where  he  led.  Down  from  the  pavement  she  stepped, 
down  into  the  earthly  road,  reckless  of  the  daint>- 
fabric  that  the  dust  leaped  to  stain  ;  and  she  walked 
on  into  the  glistening  grass,  and  her  eyes  saw  the 


The    OI^ERFLOIVING    HOUR       38s 

waiting  oak  and  the  vast  sky  belnnd.  And  rhc  ni-^ht 
was  dark,  and  even  ti,e  d.stant  blink.ng  h,nt  ^as 
hidden;  and  she  could  hear  the  soft  kmc^ua-^e  of  the 
mother  bird  that  kept  her  love-taught  v.gil.  and  the 
wh.ppoorwiH  s  cry  came  in  mellou- wave,  acn.s  the 
npphng  woods-and  the  great  tender  arn.s  of  the 
holy  night  were  about  thetn  all. 

"  Let  us  sit  here,"  and  I  larvey  motioned  towards  a 
giant  log  that  lay  beneath  the  oaks.  ••  And  Til  tell 
you,  Madeline." 

She  raised  one  white  hand  to  her  throat  as  she 
took  her  place;  even  then  he  noticed  the  dehcate 

apermg  fingers,  so  well  fitted  for  the  work  to  which 
her  father  l^ad  referred.  Something  seen.ed  to  be 
chokmg  her  so  long  were  the  white  fingers  held  to 

he  soft  flesh  above.  The  other  hand  ^ent  out  ab- 
sently, uphfted.  and  she  held  tight  to  the  soft-swing- 
."g  branch  of  the  ancient  oak.  for  the  leaves  bended 
aDout  them  where  they  sat 

fathl"d-;t'    Harvey."  "she  said.     -.  Isn't  it  about 
fathcr-didnt  you  see  him   this   evening?"     Com- 
monplace  questions    enough    they   were;     and    her 
heart  had  clutched  wildly  at  them  as  her  hand  had 
eized  the  bough  above  her.     But  commonplace  the 
ords  were  not-a  surge  of  fire  made  them  glow  and 
seam,  to  h,m  at  least,  her  troubled  soul  .fweepin. 
hrough  them  like  a  flood.     For  her  voice  was  shak^ 
"g  as  she  asked  the  simple  questions  ;  and  her  arm  was 
sti  1  outstretched  as  she  clung  to  the  yielding  bough 
-and  the  white  fingers  still  pressed  the  quivering 


386 


THE   WEB    OF   TIME 


w 


..  No  it  isn't  about  that,"  he  said,  his  voice  as  low 
as  the  ioices  of  the  night.  She  never  rr.oved.  But 
he  heard,  actually  heard,  her  lips  as  they  slowly 
parted-and  her  breath  came  as  if  she  were  resting 

from  a  race.  „ 

..  Ifs  about  us-oh,  Madeline,  its  about  us,    he 
began,  and  his  words  came  swift,  as  if  they  were 
driven  out  by  force.     "  You  know,  you  know,  Mad- 
eline, all  that's  in  my  heart-all  that's   been   there 
:or  years.     Ever  since  I  worked  for  your  father-ever 
since  we  went  to  school-ever  since  that  laght  beside 
my  Daby  sister's  grave— and  since  you  came  to  see 
mother  when  she  got  blind-and  since  I  went  to  college 
-and  always,  always,  Madeline,  through  all  the  years. 
You  know.  Madeline,  you  know."     Then  his  words 
poured  out  in  a  passionate  stream,  swirling  like  waves 
about  her.  and  he  told  her  what  they  both  had  known 
long,   what    neither    had   ever    heard   before.      Ihe 
maiden's  eyes  shone  dim ;    and  one  hand  clutched 
tighter  at  the  crushed  and  broken  twigs ;  the  other 
slippec  from  the  quivering  throat,  -ressed  now  to  the 
paining  bosom.     And  the  moist    lips  were   parted 
still,  but  the  speech  that  flowed  between  was  silent 
as  her  listening  soul.  ,,    ,  ,.      .,    , 

"And  I've  told  you  the  worst,  Madehne,  he 
vowed  at  length.  "  I  was  determined  to  tell  you  the 
worst,  before  I  go  away,  before  I  go  away  to  take  up 
the  struggle  against  my  sin— alone.  And  to  win- 
to  conquer,"  he  a-^.ded  low.  "  So  I'm  not  worthy. 
Madeline— and  the  future's  uncertain— and  I  know 
it  and  you  know  it.    And  nobody  but  God  can  ever 


'■".'r-"'Na"TDK.« 


The    OI/ERHLOIVING    HOUR 


3^7 


tell  what  it  has  meant  to  mc  to  say  all  I've  said  to- 
il i^^ht ;  and  it's  ail  because  I  love  you  so  .  .  . 
Oh,  Madeline,"  and  the  stron^^  voice  struggled  in 
vain  to  keep  on  its  way;  too  late,  it  broke  and 
trembled,  the  pain  and  passion  bursting;  through  it 
as  he  bowed  his  head  and  hid  his  lace.  "  So  I'm 
going  away,"  he  murmured  low,  "  I'm  going  awa}.  " 

The  sighing  wind  was  hushed  and  the  mother  bird 
was  silent  and  the  whippoorwill  was  dumb. 

"  Harvey,  don't." 

It  was  such  a  gentle  note,  barely  audible,  like  the 
first  faint  cry  of  some  wood-born  nestling  when  it 
sees  the  light.  But  it  filled  and  Hooded  all  his  soul. 
He  raised  '  is  head,  so  slowly,  from  his  hands  ;  and 
slowly  he  turned  his  ^'ice  till  his  eyes  rested  full  upon 
her.  The  moon  had  risen  and  he  could  see  her 
beauty.  Both  hands  were  lying  now  in  the  white 
folds  of  her  dress,  and  between  them  were  the 
crushed  and  broken  leaves,  their  fragrance  outstealing 
from  their  wounds.  The  branrh  she  had  release.' 
was  still  swaying  to  and  fro.  But  .Madeline  saw  it 
not ;  nor  aught  else  beside.  The  veiled  and  glisten- 
ing eyes  were  looking  far  beyond ;  he  could  not  tell 
whether  they  were  fixed  on  the  darkling  thicket  or 
on  the  crescent  moon.  But  while  his  gaze  stole  up- 
ward to  her  face  a  night-bird  in  the  thicket  piped 
softly  to  its  mate — and  he  saw  her  ej-es  search  the 
frowning  shade.  Then  they  were  still.  But  he 
could  sec  the  radiance  on  cheek  and  brow,  and  he 
felt  the  life-stream  that  her  e}-es  outpoured,  aglow 
with  the  emotion  of  her  soul.     I  Icr  bosom  rose  and 


w  •i'^tflui.' :'    .*+T 


388 


THE    WEB    OF    TIME 


fell,  nor  did  she  seem  to  know— again  and  yet  agaii 
the  candour  of  her  love  spoke  thus.  And  while  h 
looked  she  slowly  turned  her  head.  I  le  noted,  evei 
then,  and  in  the  gathering  light,  the  wealth  of  lovelj 
hair,  the  fair  purity  of  her  forehead,  the  ni)  stic  lun 
of  her  quivering  lips,  the  throb  that  '-eat  swiftly  ii 
her  throat,  soft  and  white  like  the  lily's  bloom—  m 
they  all  were  lost  in  the  glory  of  her  wondrous  eyes 
These  were  transfigured  ;  surrender,  conquest,  yearn 
i"g.  i^ity,  pride,  the  joy  of  possession  and  the  raptur< 
of  captivity— all  that  unite  to  make  that  mysterious 
tide  called  passion,  looked  their  meaning  from  hei 
face. 

Her  breath,  fresh  from  the  parted  lips,  floated 
outward  till  it  touched  his  face-and  to  him  spread- 
ing oak  and  whispering  groxe  and  shadowy  thicket 
and  crescent  moon  had  ceased  to  be.  He  saw  her 
eyes  alone,  his  soul  swimming  towards  them  through 
the  torrent;  his  finger-tips  touched  her  shoulders 
first— and  she  was  there— and  the  soft  form  yielded, 
and  the  glory  slowly  faded  as  the  eyelids  fell,  and 
the  fragrance  of  her  breath  made  hfe  a  holy  thing 
forever  as  he  drew  he-  into  the  strong  shelter  of  his 
love. 


XXXV 
"/NTQ  HIS  HOUSE  OF  IV I N £•' 

TliEV  came  up  the  little  hill  to^^ether.     And 
many  eyes  uere  turned  on  th-.n  .,»  uoiulcr 
as  they  uent  up  the  ai.le,  David  .till  lean- 
HJ^^  on  the  strong  man  bes:de  hnn.     It  ua.s  K.I.crt 
cCa..    u  ,o    took    the    token    iron.  Mr.   Borland's 
hand,  and  h.  own  told  Us  uelcome  by  its  hn.erin^ 

her  IZh""!  "'T'  "'  """'''^  '''''-'  -'^-'^''''^^^  --' 
tn   "^f  ^^^'''-^>' -^-ted  there,  when  Harvey  stoo.l 

d    a  d   wh,spered.     .-Let  us  go   to   my    mothers 
Stat,    lie  said. 

Davids  assent  ,vas  quick  and  cordial.     He  l^neu- 
.he  sacrament   of  love;    and   the  look  „„i,  „"", 
.     de  ,ne  and  her  mother  followed  then,  showed 
they  lecognized  the  higher  claim 

Very  beautiful  was  the  service  of  that  holy  hour 

an:^:!;:;:lv^e?■,i^1.';■f,••'=^''■■■■''"^----■ 

(-.,.  ■„  •   ^'etcher    rose   to    prav    his 

presence  of  the  angels  when  a  new  star  swims  into 

K-  firmament   of  heaven.      And    his    praye^    <  al 

anks^Jbr  the   cloud  of  witnesses  ^J^::.,;^:, 

tZt7\  '"^  ^^^--^-^-^-cl  gone  out  from 

tncm  along  the  upward  path  of  pain. 

U  onderful  stillness  wrapped  the  worshippers  about 

389 


V 


THE    H^'EB    OF   TIME 


as  the  elders  went  slowly  down  the  aisle  with  the 
symbols  of  redeeming  love.  It  wa<  not  his  ac- 
customed place,  but  Geoidie  Nickle  bore  the  bread 
and  wine  to  where  David  and  Harvey  sat.  His  eyes 
shone  with  a  great  light  as  he  placed  the  emblems 
first  in  David's  shaking  hand  ;  and  the  moist  eyes 
were  upturned  to  God ;  and  his  lips  moved  while 
he  stood  before  them  in  the  grand  dignity  of  his 
priestly  office.  The  compassion  glowing  on  his  face 
was  wortliy  of  the  Cross. 

David  and  Harvey  bowed  their  heads  together, 
the  old  man  and  the  young.  The  one  was  touched 
with  the  whitening  frost  of  years,  the  other  with  the 
dew  of  youth.  But  their  lips  were  moist  with  the 
same  holy  wine  and  their  hearts  v.cre  kindred  in 
tiijir  trembling  hope.  Before  them  both  arose  the 
vision  of  a  Saviour's  face  ;  but  the  old  man's  thought 
was  of  eternal  rest,  and  the  other's  was  of  the  bat- 
thng  years  beyond. 

Harvey's  mind  flew  quickly  over  all  the  bygone 
days.  Love  and  loneliness,  conflict  and  respite,  hope 
and  despair,  victory  and  overthrow  passed  before 
him — and  all  seemed  now  to  have  conspired  towards 
this  holy  hour.  He  felt  that  the  way  had  been 
chosen  for  him  amid  life's  perplexing  paths  ;  that  an 
unseen  Hand  had  been  at  the  helm  ;  that  the  prayer 
and  purpose  of  another's  life  had  led  him  back  to 
the  path  from  which  he  had  departed,  fulfilling  the 
design  of  an  All-wise  Sovereign  Will. 

David  gave  a  little  start  of  prise  \\.  :n  Dr. 
Fletcher  announced  the  closing  h^    .... 


"/MO   HIS   HOUSE   of   U''I\'E-     3Q1 

•'  He  done  that  for  mo."  he  uhispcrcd  to  Harve>-  ; 
"he  knows  it's  mine." 

They  rose  to  sing  the  noble  sonjr.  Tlie  great 
words    rolled   slowly  out  from  many  reverent  lips  : 

"  The  samN  uf  time  arc  ^inkinn." 

It  was  when  they  came  to  the  soul's  great  boa.-^t 

"  With  mercv  ari'l  with  jti<l;;ment 
My  web  of  time  He  wove," 

that  Harvey  turned  his  eyes  towards  IXavid  ;  and  his 
heart  melted  as  he  saw  the  tears  rolling  dow..  the 
withered  cheeks.  David's  head  was  b.nvcd,  for  it 
hurt  him  sore  that  men  should  see.  lUit  there  had 
come  about  him  such  a  tide  of  feeling— all  hi. 
chequered  life  rising  up  before  him— and  such  a 
sense  of  the  abundant  grace  that  had  made  the 
shadows  beautiful  with  light,  tiiat  his  soul  dissolved 
in  gratitude  to  the  Hand  that  guided  a.-id  the  Heart 
that  planned  through  all  the  labyrinth  of  years. 

Other  lips  were  still,  and  Harvey's  among  them, 
when  they  reached  the  closing  lines : 

"Amid  the  shades  of  tvening 

Wiile  -.inks  lifc'^  lingering  sand 
I  hail  the  glory  clawninrr 
In  Immanuel's  land." 

But  those  who  were  beside  him  marvelled  at  the 
strong  rich  tones  with  which  David  soimded  the 
exultant    note.     His    voice    v-  more  the  voice 

of  age  ;  and  the  scars  of  battle  anished  from  his 


I'. ' 


392 


THE   IVEB   OF   TIME 


face.  Strong  and  victorious  came  the  swelling 
strain,  and  his  uplifted  eyes  had  the  glow  of  un- 
conquerable youth.  He  had  caught  the  lights  of 
Home. 


,5  ^i 


J'L 


A, 


:S;;^5r^, 


welling 
of  un- 
hts  of 


S 


XXXVI 
'^  MISTRESS  OF  FINANCE 

I OME  men  arc  born  lucky -_and   some  .et 
kmd   of  good   luck  thrust  upon  thcrn  "  af 

uon  t  think  I  ever  knew  a  man  get  a^  nmck  nm 
motion    n  the  nc\v^nan,.r  k  ' 

c-  .       "t-Hspaper   busmrss   as  vou  ve  InH 

S.n.nons.     I  really  don't.     But  then  yo  V    4  t' 

eciuc..on-and    the  material  above    tL    eyef  a  d 

-s   the   whole  outfit.     Well.  I  can't  do^^' 

1  a     congratulate  ^'ou.   old  man."  and  the  s.ncerity 

aero  s  the°    m'  •  "^'^  "*"  ^"'^^"^  ^'^  Harvey  looked 
across  the  table  mto  the  deep-set  eyes. 

else  r'T  ^'^r''  '"  ""'     ■■■^'^   '^  than  anybody 
cl         m  sure.  •  Harvey  returned;  -and  I'll  do  all  I 

can  to  make  good.     I'll  e.xpect  you  to - 

il  tell  you  somethmg  I've  been  thinking  of  for 
393 


^w^m 


r*:*ip^jr 


394 


THE    IVEB    OF   TIME 


ilillt?* 


%tm 


quite  a  while,"  the  other  broke  in,  lowering  his  voice 
and   leaning   far  over  the  table.     "  If  we  could  only 
get  a  hold  of  the  business— the  paper,  I  mean— the 
whole  box  and  dice  !     The  thing's  going  to  change 
hands,  as  you  know  ;  evcr\-body  has  known  that,  since 
the  i)rcsident  got  the  collectorship  of  customs— and 
it  would   be  worth  more  to  us  than  to  anybody  else. 
We   could   run   it  to  the  Queen's   taste— the  whole 
shooting-match.     But  I  supj-ose  there's  no  use  talk- 
ing— can't  make  bricks   without  straw.     Of  course. 
I've  saved  a  little  chicken-feed — not  enough,  though 
—there,  that's  my  total,"  as  he  pencilled  some  figures 
on  a  blotting-pad  and  passed   it  over ;"  and  if  you 
could  duplicate  it— or  a  litUe  better— we'd  have  the 
thing  in    our  mitt.     But    I   suppose  there'     no   use 
thinking  about  it  ?  "  looking  rather  eagerly  at  Marve}-. 
nevertheless. 

"Out  of  the  question,"  answered  Harvey  deci- 
sively, leaning  back  in  his  chair;  "  you  can't  get  blood 
from  a  turnip,  or,  as  Geordie  Nickle,  a  Glcnallen  friend 
of  mine,  would  say,  you  can't  take  the  breeks  off  a 
Hielan'man.  I  haven't  any  money,  that's  the  Eng- 
lish of  it.  Of  course,"  a  tinge  of  pleasure  in  the  tone, 
"  I'll  have  a  pretty  good  salary  now— but  what's  that 
for  a  plunge  like  this?"  as  he  pushed  the  blotting- 
pad  back  across  the  table. 

"  About  as  good  as  a  dozen  of  eggs  for  an  army," 
Mr.  Crothers  agreed  disconsolately.  "  Oh,  well,  we'll 
just  have  to  make  out  the  best  we  can— but  I'm 
mighty  glad  of  your  good  luck,  old  man,  just  the 
same." 


lioth    men  turned  to  tl.cir  ,v„,k      ,,,rvcv-.  fi    , 
move    was    to   riii^   |„r    ,    <t  'l.irvtjs  first 

ci.a..sed  hi.  „i„a."  '7  ,;:.r;:7*--  ^  "">  i-- 

■»"."tc.,"  I,c  said;  ..  ill  „.,".,  '■""   '"'■  "  "•■" 

The  letter  closed  as  fulWs  •     ••  ^^'"-        .. 

c.mc  at  last,  sistcr-and  your  d  us  o'f  h-    i  '^ ' 

St.rl-     nn   1    ,  .  ^  ^'■'"  >'^^''  f^LIsincS.— lock 

0..1y  one  tin  ;  r  " rJ:    ^^  ;;;""'"""«>-  "^e. 

V  our  ever  loxin^r 

"ilAKVKV." 


i>'  as 

S-room  was 

O'  radiant  face. 


rivv  M    ^'■'"^.^'^'•^^^  ^^''tJ^  surprise  when  Harvey  ar 

1  Krvev      ,   ^7"^'-^'^^   '"^^-^  brightened  .uddcniv  a^ 

'lo^--cd   by  the  appearance  of  a  vc 
iie  had  a  letter  in  his  hand 

.'.'  ,y."'  ^''""^  F^rrinfrall;'  he  said  enc|,iirin,.|j- 

lU^  s„me.ln-„s  I've  wanted  to  asic  y,,,,  ,-„t  a  ,„„« 

nie-and    I  n,   ;;„,„„  to  do  it  no„-  "  .1,,.  „,,,..,,  ,._,n 

-"ly,  ris,„g  and  n.ov.ng  to  the  uindo;;..  dld'^^l.r 


^ 


7/y£    M/f^    OF    TIME 


mother  ever — did  she  ever  speak  to  you  about  your 
father,  Harvey  ?  " 

llarve)-'s  answer  was  slow.  "Yes,"  he  said  at 
len^nh. 

"  Did  you  know  he's  hving  ?  "  she  asked  after  a 
long  pause. 

"  Yes,"  and  Harvey's  voice  was  Httle  more  than 
audible.  "  My  mother  told  me  that  when  she  was 
d\ing.  Why  ?' "  he  asked  resolutely,  moving  to 
where  she  stood. 

"  I  only  wished  to  know,  dear,"  and  her  ton- 
breathed  gentleness  as  she  turned  and  fixed  her  pen- 
sive eyes  on  his.     "  I  knew  he  was  living,  and " 

"  Where — do  you  know  where  ?  "  he  broke  out, 
almost  with  a  cry.  "  IVIy  mother  didn't  know, 
and " 

"  No,  I  don't  know  where,"  she  interrupted,  her  eyes 
now  looking  far  without ;  "  but  I  know  he's  living  yet. 
We'll  both  know  more  some  day — what's  in  that  let- 
ter, Harvey?"  the  voice  betokening  that  the  subject 
was  dismissed,  at  least  for  the  present. 

"  It's  something  you'll  be  glad  to  read,"  he  an- 
sv  -red  absently  as  he  handed  it  to  her. 

Deep  silence  reigned  a  while. 

"  I  knew  it,  Harvey,"  she  said  when  she  had  fin- 
ished. "  I  expected  this — I  was  waiting  for  you  to 
come  home.  I  wanted  to  see  you  very  much.  Can 
you  think  what  for  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  Harvey  answered  abstracted!)-, 
musing  still. 

"  Barlow,"  she  called. 


^%JmM 


A    MISTRESS  of  FINANCE        397 
hail  ?il'  "'"r"  '  ''^^"''^^^"^  ^""^'  '-^"--"-^  ^Vom  the 

n:';tr:;z:^""^^-^^^^^-^--'-orth: 

"  ^oLi  know  the  vault,  Barlow  ^" 

;:  ^'\  7""'"  •■'-^1^1'^"^  'ts  guardian  of  years. 
And  the  box  in  the  lower  left-hand  corner?" 
»  cs,  mum. 

"And  tile  paper  we  deposited  there  yesterday?" 
Ves,  mum.  ^ 

"  '[^'^^  ^'-  ^V^<i"is  helped  me  to  draw  ?" 
"  \  OS,  mum." 

"  Tiien  bring  it  to  me  at  once." 

"Ves  mum."  and  Barlow  turned  in  h.s  tracks  as 
he  had  done  for  a  quarter  of  a  centur^• 

He  was  back  in  a  moment.     •<  v'ou  can  go  now 

rlow  and  shut  the  door.  Take  Grc^-.  a.fd  don  t 
stand  outside.     Go  and  count  the  .spoons  " 

to2ketr";;'"'''r"'""'^''^^^^^'"^^'^^i-ted 

to  make  the  oft-rei)eated  inventory 

"I  expected  this  to  come.  I larvey."  she  bc^an  as 
oon^astheywereaW     •' I  know  the  pre..,:,;    ^^ 

•        m   not  such  a  hermit  as   some  people  think, 
u    I  ve  been  w.shmg  for  something  better  for  you 
Kuvey-can  you  guess  what  it  is-"  her  words  end- 
ing m  a  nervous  little  cough. 

su!l7'^)  ^f '  '''"^'"^  ^^°^^'  '""^'^^"t  '>-^  "-as  of  any 
sucli  knowledge,  ^ 

ou'c^ht'f '  ''    ''f^''    '"""'"^    '■"   "^>'   '"'"^   that  you 
ought  to  own  that  paper." 

Harvey   gave   a   little  laugh.     ■>  That",   what  Mr. 


'^ 

-I 

j 

lilillfl? 


r^  ■fiirifi 


398 


THE    WEB    OF   TIME 


%m. 


Crothers  was  saying,"  he  bcg[an  confusedly ;  "  he 
thinks  we  could  do  wonders  if  we  had  it  between  us 
— but  of  course  it's  out  of  the  question.  It  would 
cost — oh,  I  don't  ki^.ow  how  much." 

"  I  know  all  about  that,"  and  Miss  Farringall's 
cheek  had  a  strangely  heightened  colour.  "  I've 
looked  into  all  that,"  she  added  in  a  low  tone ;  "  and 
do  you  think  you  could  ?  Would  Mr.  Crothers  really 
make  a  good  partner  ?  " 

Harvey  stared.  "  He's  a  jewel.  Miss  Farringall. 
every  way — but  v,  hy  do " 

"  Excuse  me,"  Miss  Farringall  interrupted  with 
authority.  "  Let  nie  proceed.  I  want  to  make  an 
investment.  I  wart  to  buy  a  business  that  belongs 
to  you  and  Jessie.  Sign  that  paper,  please,"  as  she 
handed  him  the  document  Barlow  had  brought. 

Amazement  took  possession  of  Harvey  as  he  read. 

"  Close  your  lips,  Harvey — when  you're  excited, 
breathe  deep  ;  it's  a  great  sedative,"  and  Miss  Far- 
ringall smiled  as  she  watched  his  face. 

Harvey  laid  the  paper  down  with  a  gasp,  "  But, 
Miss  Farringall,"  he  began  excitedly,  breathing  as 
best  he  could,  "  the  proposition  is  preposterous — a 
sum  of  money  such  as  this  for  a  paltry  outfit  like 
that  little  store  in  Glenallen  !  The  whole  thing  isn't 
worth " 

"  Be  careful,  Harvey  Simmons,  be  careful,  now,  " 
Miss  Farringall  broke  in  sternly.  «  Vou  haven't 
read  the  agreement.  Maybe  the  price  does  look  big 
— but  did  you  see  all  I'm  to  get  in  return  ?" 

Harvey   shook   th.e    document    excitedly.     "  You 


t     \     \ 


•■'v^^;. 


A    MISTRESS   of   FINANCE        399 
ruithu-the    one    nor   the    other',   worth    one    tuhe 

u  H     ti  r  .  "!"'  '^'""  '^^"^-     '^■^>^'  vciKlur  ies 


•<  Its  that  way  in  the  papc,_jj,,ie' 


<T 


buyhertuo.     I  can  d„  u  l,a,  I,,,.  „",,  „,,    ^    ', 
—and  Jessie   conies   to  me      W. "  .1,  , 

And  sht-.  to  be  shipped  here,  rii;ht»ide  up  „,th  care 
.  d  shes  to  give  „,e  value  ,„r  n,y  „,„„.y'„,er,.       ,e 
1  see  her  sweet  face  and  hear  her  n.erry  iau-l,       "  e 
^pent  a  lot  repairing  ,h,s  old  house-but  t^afs  the- 
1;...<1  of  repa,r  its  been  needing  for  Ion,  vears  and 
»  80.ng  to  get  it  now.     U^hen  you  get  ^u'.  purchase 
"oney  you   can   nn-est  it  a    you  like;  it'll  be  your 
•™-"-o..iy  s,g„,   Harvey,  sign    now.     Ive  -ot  tl  e 
pnce  all  ready,"  her  voice  r.nging  with  merrj- n.u   c 
-  she  brandished  a  bulky  envelope  before  „i/e  " 

m  ved     lowly  up  to  her,  holdu,g  „„t  i,,  ,„„^_ 
and  she  put  her  own  about  his  neck  with  hurryin,, 
pa»,onate  eagerness  and  held  hin,  tight.     \vj,   re- 

o  >„  I      .       ""■'■""""S  'y«  seen,ed  not  to  see  his 
t'       ecret  of  tlie  years. 


i^i'S- 


!!i.#^  " 


XXXVII 
7HE   CONQUEROR'S  HOME-GO/NG 


«i 


Y 


OU'RE  wanted  on  the  long-distance  line, 
JMr.  Simmons  ;  Glenallen  wants  to  speak 
with  you,"  was  the  message  that  inter- 
rupted Harvey  and  Mr.  Crotbers  in  the  midst  of  a 
very  delightful  conference  ;  the  future  of  the  Moyiniig 
Argus  was  the  subject  of  discussion. 

"  Somebody  wanting  to  congratulate  you."  ven- 
tured Mr.  Crothers  ;  "  tell  them  the  new  firm's  flour- 
ishing so  far,"  a  smile  of  great  satisfaction  on  his 
face.  The  fulfillment  of  the  ambition  of  half  a  life- 
time had  filled  Mr.  Crothers'  cup  to  overflowing. 

Five  minutes  later  Harvey  had  returned,  the  glad- 
ness vanished  from  his  eyes. 

"What's  the  matter,  Simmons? — nothing  gone 
wrong,  I  hope." 

"  I've  got  to  leave  within  ten  minutes,"  Harvey 
answered,  stooping  to  arrange  some  scattered  papers 
on  his  desk.  "  I'll  just  have  time  to  catch  the  Glen- 
allen train.  The  dearest  friend  I  have  in  the  world 
is  dying,  they  tell  me — and  he  wants  me." 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Crothers,  rising  from  his  scat, 

"Mr.  Borland— David  Borland.  You've  often 
heard  me  speak  oi  him." 

Mr.  Crothers'  countenance  fell.  "  I  should  think  I 
have;  I  almost  feel  as  if  I  knew  him,  you've  given 

400 


■The  CO\'QUERORS  HOME-GQlSa       401 

me  so  mud,  of  his  philosophy.     I  always  hoped  I 

might  meet  him—whaf.  Hke  the  trouble  ?  " 
"  Heart,"  said  Harvey,  unable  to  say  more 
"  That  was   where  his    homely  philosophy  came 

from,  I  sliould  say."  ventured  Mr.  Crothers  ;  "  it's  the 

best  brand  too." 

Harvey   nodded.     A    few   minutes   later   he    was 
gone. 


The  evening  sun  was  prodigal  of  its  beauty  And 
once,  when  Harvey  lifted  up  h-s  eyes  to  look  he 
could  see  the  flashing  windows  of  David's  old-time 
residence,  its  stately  outlines  showing  clear  against 
the  sombre  trees  behind.  Hut  the  little  house  on 
n-hich  his  eyes  were  fastened  now-where  a  great 
soul  was  preparing  for  its  flight-seemed  far  the 
grander  of  the  two.  For  it  was  clothed  with  the 
majesty  of  things  invisible  and  the  outlook  from  its 
humbler  windows  was  to  the  Eternal. 

He  entered  without  knocking;  and  Mrs.  Borland 
was  the  first  to  meet  him. 

"  He's  sinking  fast."  she  said,  greeting  Harvey 
with  a  warmth  he  had  not  known  before.  "  He  can 
still  speak  with  us,  though-and  lie's  been  asking  for 
you."  ^ 

"  Who's  with  him  ?  "  asked  Harvey. 

"  Just  Madeline.     We  sent  for  Dr.  Fletcher— but 
he  s  away,  attending  some  meeting  of  ministers.     Mr 
tickle's  coming,  though— he'll  soon  be  here  now." 

Harvey  stood   a   minute  at  the   door   before   he 


402 


THE    [VEB    OF    TIME 


entered  David's  room.  Madeline  looked  up  and 
smiled ;  but  her  father's  eyes  were  turned  away,  fixed 
on  the  distant  hills.  The  gaze  of  the  younger  man 
rested  long  and  lovingly  on  the  pallid  face  upon  the 
pil'c..-  Never  had  David  looked  so  grand  before. 
The  thin,  responsive  lips ;  the  care  worn  face,  com- 
passion and  sympathy  in  every  line;  the  crown  of 
silvery  hair,  so  whitened  since  Harvey  saw  it  last; 
the  large,  far-seeing  eyes,  homes  of  the  faith  and  hope 
that  had  upborne  his  life  and  made  it  beautiful,  out- 
gazing  now  beyond  the  things  of  time,  calm  with  the 
last  long  peace — all  these  gave  to  the  face  that  spir- 
itual beauty  which  is  the  handiwork  of  God. 

Harvey  drew  closer  to  the  bed.  David  slowly 
turned  his  head ;  his  ej-es  met  Harvey's,  and  he  held 
out  his  hand. 

"  I  knew  you'd  come,"  he  said  gently  ;  we're  all 
together  now — all  but  Geordie." 

Harvey's  answer  was  a  warmer  pressure  of  the 
wasted  hand. 

"  The  sands  is  runnin'  fast,"  David  said  with  a  faint 
smile — "  the  battle'U  soon  be  done.  An'  I'm  pretty 
tired,  Harvey." 

Harvey  was  still  standing  by  the  bed,  bowed,  still 
holding  David's  hand.  And  the  dying  man  could 
see  the  tears  that  were  making  their  way  down  the 
quivering  cheeks. 

"  Don't,  Harvey,"  he  implored  ;  "  this  ain't  no  time 
for  that.     Madeline,  read  that  bit  again." 

The  girl  lifted  the  Bible  from  the  bed.  "  She 
knows  the  place  I  want — it's  John  the  fourteenth," 


■W'^. 


the 


•The  CONQUERORS  HOME-GOING  40^ 
David  said,  h.s  face  turned  to  Harvey's.  "  We  love 
all  the  places-theyVe  all  beautiful.  Tliere's  lovely 
shade  m  the  Psalms  when  the  hot  sun's  beatin'  down 
-an  Its  all  good;  but  John  the  fourteenth's  hke  a 
deep,  clear  spnn^j.  an'  that's  where  we  stay  the  most— 
u'carv'  travellers  loves  a  spriiis."  and  the  dyin.i^  man 
turned  his  eyes  eagerly  on  the  book  Madeline  had 
opened. 

"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.  ...  In  My 
Father's  house  are  many  mansions  ;  \{  it  were  not  so 
I  would  have  told  you."  Thus  Howcd  the  stream  of 
love  ;  and  David  closed  his  e>-es,  drinking  deep  indeed 
ot  tlie  livin^^  tiile. 

"Ain't  that  beautiful?"  he  said,  his  voice  thrilled 
with  passionate  gladness.  ••  I  hkc  that  about  the 
mansions  the  best.  I  think.  Everybody  loves  a  man- 
sion I  got  turned  out  o'  one-the  one  our  Madeline 
uus  born  in  ;  but  this'U  be  a  far  better  one,  an'  me  an' 
Madeline  an'  mother'II  live  tliere  ahvaj-s.  an'  nobody 
can  t  ever  turn  us  out.  It's  our  Father's,"  he  added 
reverently. 

Mrs^  I^orland  was  bending  over  him.  "  Don't 
talk.  David."  she  pleaded  ;  .-  it's  too  much  for  \-,H,r 
strength. 

He  gazed  up  at  her.  "  \  want  to  give  a-a  testi- 
mon\-_aioi-e  I  go."  he  said  falteringlv  <•  I  jest  u-ant 
to  ou„  up  that  I  ahvays  loved  God-lots  o'  f, Iks 
d.dn  t  think  so-an'  He  ahvays  loved  me.  an'  picked, 
the  path  for  me.  An'  He  ma.!  everythin'  t..  happen 
as  It  did  :  an'  I  believe  I'm  thankfuller  for  the  thin-s 
1  didn  t  want  to  happen  than  U>r  the  ones  I  diJ—IIc 


404 


THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 


MM: 


seen  the  best,  'cause  He  was  higher  up.  Madeline, 
sing  for  me,"  he  appealed  with  failing  breath;  "  sing  a 
children's  hymn — that  one  about  the  river,"  his  eyes 
gently  closing  as  he  lay  back  upon  the  pillow. 

'•  He  always  loved  tliat  one,"  his  wife  whispered 
brokenly  to  Harvey.  "  It's  so  simple.  W'e  can't, 
David,"  as  she  bended  over  him,  "  -.ve  can't  sing 
now." 

"  I  can,  mother,"  and  Idadeline's  voice  was  firm. 
The  others'  eyes  were  hidden,  but  Madeline's  were 
fixed  steadfastly  on  her  father's  as  the  crystal  notes 
came  low  and  sweet : 

"  Soon  we'll  reach  the  silvery  river 
Soon  our  pilgrimage  shall  cease  ; 
Soon  ourhapi)y  hcavts  shall  quiver 
With  the  nieloily  of  peace," 

and  the  dying  lips  broke  in  once  or  twice  in  a  plain- 
tive effort  to  swell  the  triumph  strain. 

The  singing  ceased.  But  David's  eyes  still  rested 
on  his  daughter.  The.i  they  were  turned  on  I  f arvey, 
as  he  stood  beside  her  ;  they  seemed,  indeed,  to  rest 
on  both  at  once.  And  their  meaning  could  be  easily 
read.  Suddenly  he  motioned  them  down  beside  him  ; 
the  girl  was  trembling,  her  pale  lips  quivering  slightly, 
for  she  had  interpreted  her  father's  look. 

David  feebly  raised  his  hands  till  one  touched  each 
bended  head.  "  You'll  sing  that  hymn — that  river 
hymn — often,  together — won't  you  ;  in  your — own 
home,"  drawing  the  bowed  heads  closer  down — "  in 
your  happy  home  ?  "  he  faltered. 


m 


'.\Vi 


*• 


■The    CONQUERORS  HOME-GOING      405 

l-'or  a  moment  ncitlicr  moved  nor  ^pokc.  'llicn, 
in  -^tron^r  a„(j  passionate  silence,  Harvey  slowly  htted 
hi^,  fac-  till  his  eyes  spoke  their  great  vou-  to  the 
dying  man;  and,  unashamed,  he  placed  Ins  arm 
gently,  rcsokitely,  about  the  maiden's  bended  lorni, 
holding  her  close  with  a  fondness  that  kindled  all 
his  face  with  light,  liut  .Madeline's  was  hidden,  her 
head  ^til!  bended  low. 

Da\  id's  face  was  wonderful  in  its  glow  of  love  and 
gladness.  Suddenly  hi.s  gaze  went  out  beyond  the 
plighted  pair. 

"  Geordic ! "  ho  said,  the  name  breathed  <nit  in 
tenderness  as  his  misty  eyes  saw  the  well-loved  form 
coming  slowly  through  the  door. 

Tile  aged  man  came  over,  leaning  heavily  on  his 
staff,  hi^  face  suffused  with  a  gentlenvss  that  flowed 
from  his  very  heart.  He  bended  l.nv  above  his  dy- 
ing friend,  dumbly  groping  for  his  hand.  He  still 
leaned  heavily  on  his  staff,  for  his  outgoing  pilgrimage, 
too,  was  close  at  hand.  And  the  two  men  looked 
lo!ig  without  a  word  ;  the  memories  of  happy  years 
passed  from  soul  to  soul  ;  in  silence  their  eyes  still 
rested  on  each  other,  but  the  troth  of  many  j-ears 
was  plighted  once  again  as  they  stood  at  the  parting 
of  the  ways.  And  fcoth  knew  the  pronjise  was  to  all 
eternity. 

Slowly  David  drew  the  strong  Scottish  face  down 
beside  his  own.  Then  he  said  something  in  a  tone 
so  low  that  no  other  ear  could  hear  ;  Geordie's  answer 
was  in  a  trembling  whisper— but  both  spc'-.e  a 
language  not  of  time. 


4o6 


THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


!■■■;*  Z 


•'Lift  mc  up,  Gcordie — Ilarvcy,  lift  mc  up," 
David's  feeble  voice  broke  out  a  nioiuent  later.  "  I 
want  to  look  once  more,"  his  eyes  turning'  to  the 
window.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the  <;ildcd  west  was 
bathed  in  ?\oTy  as  tliey  tenderly  lifted  the  wasted 
form,  the  weary  head  restni^'  on  the  bosom  of  his 
child. 

David's  eyes,  wondrously  lightened  no  v.,  rested 
long  on  the  crimson  pathway.  «•  It's  a  lovely  road 
to  go  !  "  he  murmured,  gazing  at  the  lane  of  light. 
"  I'm  glad  I'm  not  goin'  in  the  dark— things  looks  so 
strange  in  the  dark.     An'  I'm  glad     .     .     ." 

It  was  Geordie  Nickle  who  bended  low,  as  though 
he  were  love's  best  interpreter,  passionately  listening 
for  the  ebbing  words.  The  receding  tide  flowed  back 
in  a  moment,  and  David's  voice  came  "Icr,  l  • :  ■'  An' 
I'm  glad  it's  the  cvenin" — things  looks  clearest  in  the 
evenin'  or  the  mornin' — it's  the  long  afternoon  that's 
dark." 

Geordie  was  almost  on  his  knees  beside  him,  the 
strong  Scottish  face  wrung  with  its  depth  of  feeling. 
"  Oh,  David,"  he  cried  with  the  eagerness  of  a  cliild. 
"  ye'll  sune  be  hame.  An'  we're  all  comin' — we'll 
no'  be  lang.  An'  oor  P^'aither's  hoose  has  niony 
mansions — if  it  were  na'  so  .  .  ."  but  the  chok- 
ing voice  refused. 

"  He'd  have— let  us  know,"  the  dying  man  added 
gently,  completing  the  mighty  promise.  "  It's  gct- 
tin'  dark,"  he  whispered  suddenly,  looking  up  into 
Madeline's  eyes  ;  "  it's  time  for  Him  to  come— I  d-  n't 
know  the  way." 


■The  CONQUERORS  HOME-GOl\G        407 

In  a  inoment  his  whole  c\pic->i.m  had  uncicp^oiic 
a  chai.ge,  such  a  change  as  conic^  to  darkcninL'  hill- 
tops  when  the  morning  sun  loves  thcni  into  lite. 
Light  covered  his  face  as  with  a  i\ood.  The  weary 
eyes  opened  wide,  the  eager  hands  outstretched. 
"  It's  all  bright  now,"  he  faltered—"  an'  He's  comin' 
—  He's  comin',  like  He  said.  I  knew— He'd— 
come." 

They  were  bending  low  about  him  ;  his  weeping 
wife  breathed  a  long  farewell.  Hut  Madeline  saw  the 
last  movement  of  the  dying  lips,  and  the  yearning 
eyes  seemed  to  bid  her  listen.  Her  face  was  veiled 
with  reverent  love  as  she  stooped  to  catch  the  parting 
breath  ;  it  came,  and  her  face  became  transfigured 
as  by  the  light  of  God. 

"  I'm  jest  home,"  she  heard  him  murmur  ;  "  I'm 
j'-'st  home." 

Gently  they  let  the  dear  form  sink  back  to  its  long, 
long  rest.  Gcordie  softly  closed  the  cyi:>,  never  to 
give  their  light  again.  Then  the  aged  man,  his  frame 
shaken  with  the  sobs  he  could  not  repress,  bent  down 
and  kissed  the  furrowed  brow. 

"  His  battle's  past,"  he  said,  the  words  struggling 
out  like  driftwood  through  the  surge,  "  an'  he  was  a 
guid  soldier." 

-And  the  conqueror  lay  in  noble  stillness,  the  glory 
of  the  departed  day  abiding  on  his  face. 


XXXVIII 


::'A^^>c 


m^ 


:  -1 


THE   FLEEING    SHADOiVS 

IT  was  long  after  midnight,  and  Harvey's  night's 
work  was  almost  done.  He  was  the  last  one 
left  in  the  ofifice,  and,  as  far  as  his  duties  were 
concerned,  everything  was  almost  ready  for  the  wait- 
ing press.  He  had  just  snapped  his  watch  with  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour 
as  he  hurriedly  turned  to  conclude  his  writing,  when 
he  fancied  he  heard  a  noise  on  the  step  outside  his 
ofifice  door. 

He  thought  nothing  of  it;  and  the  pen  flowed 
faster  than  before.  But  only  a  couple  of  minutes 
more  had  passed  when  a  similar  sound  fell  upon  his 
ear.  And  it  disturbed  him  strangely.  Perhaps  he 
was  nervous,  for  the  strain  of  the  night's  work  had 
been  severe  enough — and  he  was  alone.  The  sound, 
to  his  ears  at  least,  had  something  unusual  and 
ominous  about  it — yet  he  knew  not  why. 

He  turned  again  to  complete  his  work,  nis  glance 
searching  the  room  a  moment  before  he  did  so.  But 
the  disturbance  had  come  from  without — the  rouin 
was  just  as  his  associates  had  left  it.  I  le  tried  to 
concentrate  his  attention ;  yet  a  strange  feeling 
possessed  him— he  felt  in  a  vague,  restless  way,  as 
though  he  were  being  watched.  His  office  at  the 
very  top  of  the  building  was  almost  lonely  in  its 

40S 


'■y^j^mt.-^- 


Tnc 


n.EEING    SHADOIVS 


I 


409 

separa  >cn  :  from  tlv.  half-open  uindovvs  tlic  slccnin,. 
c.ty  m,..M>.  be  :cen.  wrapped  in  the  traihu^^  ^.„,nent. 
of  the  dark.  Hi^  mind  seemed  .stran-ely  .sen.iluc 
a-quiver  almost,  as  if  some  influence  were  bornj 
111  upon  him  from  the  haunted  chambers  of  the 
night. 

Suddenly,  impelled  by  some  mysteriou.  impulse 
he  flung  his  pen  upon  the  table  and  turned  h,.  gaze- 
over  his  shouider  with  a  swift  motion,  (i.King  his  eyes 
on  the  large  pane  of  glass  that  formed  the  u.M^er 
portion  of  the  door. 

Involuntarily  he    uttered    a    startled    cry—for    he 
could    see,  two    or    three   inches    Irom   the   pane,  a 
human  face.     And  the  eyes  were  wide,  and  fastened 
upon  lum  with  almost  fierce  intensity.      The  bearded 
face  was  pallid  and  haggard-but  the  e)-es  were  the 
outstanding    features,    gleaming    with    a    nameless 
significance  that  spoke  of  a  soul  .-lured  with  passion 
1  hey  never   flinched-even   as    Harvey  sprang  from 
his  chair  they  did  not  turn  away.     Xuthing  could  be 
seen  but  the  face-and  the  impact  of  the  unnunin- 
eyes  was  terrific. 

Harvey  stood  a  moment,  trembling.  The  face 
never  moved.  Then  he  strode  swiftly  to  the  door 
and  flung  it  wide. 

"  Whafs  the  meaning  of  this,  sir  ?"  he  demanded 
sternly.     •■  What's  your  business  here  ?  " 

The  mans  eyes  moved  only  enough  to  wander 
slowly  about  his  face.  He  waited  till  Harvey's  lips 
^^ere  framing  other  words,  his  hand  now  on  the  door 
as  If  to  slam  it  shut.     Then  lie  u'alkcd  slowly  in.  liis 


^-.-isr.,.^ 


t\:^j^f 


mmHUMi 


1'  ;  ff-; 


410 


THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 


door 


face  still  turned  upon  the  other's.     He  shut 
himself. 

"  I   want   you    to    look    at   something,"  said  the 
man,  and  the  voice  was  deep  and  passionate. 

He  was  clad  in  the  meanest  garments;  poor 
repairs  were  c  \  ^hem  h  ^re  and  there.  The  sicns  ot 
poverty  were  ever>'where  about  him,  and  his  whole 
appearance  was  that  of  one  who  had  suffered  much 
amid  the  billows  of  misfortune,  lie  seemed  to  be 
struggling  hard  to  resummon  something  he  had  lost 
— the  quivering  lips  and  the  despairing  eyes  told  that 
he  had  been  beaten  in  the  fight,  yet  not  without 
stern  resistance,  nur  yet  left  without  flickerings  o: 
the  old-time  fire.  His  spirit  seemed  broken,  yet  not 
utterly  destroyed. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  .^  What's  your 
business  ? "  Harvey  demanded ;  the  man  was  fum- 
bling in  the  pocket  of  his  coat. 

"  I'm  a  printer,"  he  answered,  "  and  one  of  your 
foremen  gave  me  work  to-day.  I  only  began  to- 
night— and  I  came  upstairs  to  see  you.  /  /v.v:. 
}'oi/  zi't'rc  /iiir." 

Something  in  the  way  he  uttered  these  last  \\ovd< 
clutched  at  Harvey's  heart.  "  I  knew  you  were 
here,"  the  man  repeated,  nodding  his  head  slowl\ , 
his  ejes  again  on  Harvey.  And  they  seemed  t.; 
melt  with  a  strange  wild  longing,  following  him  w  ith 
a  kind  of  defiant  wistfulness.  Somehow,  like  a 
faint  and  fleeting  dream,  Jessie's  face — or  an  expres- 
sion Harvey  had  often  seen  upon  it — passed  like  a 
wraith  between  him  and  the  bearded  tnau. 


■■i    ..d)C- 


^■m^ 


poor 


youi 
fuiu- 


■T/ie    FLEEING    S  H  A  D  O IV  S 


411 


s 
t 


"  Who  arc  you  ?  "  lie  said  huskily 
The  mans  eyes  rested   a   luunient  on  the  floor- 
and   he  was  trembling'  where  he  stood.     Slowly  he 
nu.ed  them  till  they  re.ted  on  Harvey's  pall.d  face. 
hen   they  looked   lon^^r  and  s.lently  at  each  other. 
the  dread  and  voiceless  dialo.c^ue  ua.^Mn^^-that  awe- 
some- interchange  of  soul  wiih  sou!  that  makes  men 
tremble,    when    eyes    sp.ak    to    an.uenn,-    e>es    as 
ik'htnin-  calls  trom  peak  to  peak. 
"  Im  your  father/'  the  low  voice  said  at  la.t.  the 
'-leep  eyes  leaping  towards  him  in  a  .trange  nia.terv 
01  strength  and  passion. 

Harvey  gave  a   cry  and  started  back.     The  man 
folio-  him,  straightening   as   he   came,   the  hun- 

ger].. .   out-held    a    htt'e.    pursuing   still      The 

young  man  retreated  farther,  gasping;  and  his 
eyes,  like  something  suddenly  released,  raced  about 
the  unkempt  form,  surveying  boots  and  clothes  and 
beard  and  brow  in  an  abandonment  of  candour 

"  No,  no  "  he  murmured  as  he  kept  creeping  back, 
the  man  following  .still ;..  no,  no,  it  cannot  be^' 

Hie  strangers  hand  wa.  outstretche.l  now.     Some- 
th'ng    whitish    was    in    it-and    sumetlung    black, 
t^ook,    he  said,  his  hps  parting  in  a  weir.',  unearthly 
^m.le.  ..  look,  and   deny  it  if  you  can  ;  its  a  photo- 
graph—and a  letter." 

Marvey  stood  still;  then  took  them  from  the  out- 
stretched hand.  The  gas  jet  was  just  above.  He 
'cad  the  letter  first-it  was  his  mother  s  handiwork, 
•^"d  the  letter  breathed  of  !o',e,  and  liope.  and  of 
'"ipatient  joy  at  their  approaching  wedding-day. 


r  ;.-_--.'^ 


L<A*J 


412 


THE    IV EB    OF    TIME 


Then  he  hel  .1  the  sharp-edged  tin-type  up  befon 
him.  And  then  he  knew .  Fur  his  eye  fell  first  ur 
his  mother's  face,  sweet  with  the  new-born  joy  o 
mjtlierhood  And  a  laughing  babe  was  in  her  arm^ 
—and  the  man  beside  her,  one  hand  resting  on  hti 
shoulder,  was  the  man  whose  panting  breath  he 
heard,  whose  burning  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  now, 
"  Ihat's  you,"  the  man  said  hoarsely  ;"  and  tliat's 
your  mother— baby  wasn't  born.  And  I  hadn't  ever 
drunk  a  drop  then,"  he  added,  a  bleatinr  cry  ming- 
hng  with  the  words. 

Harvey  stood  long,  looking  down.  Once  the 
strange-  put  out  his  hand— but  he  drew  back  with 
the  picture,  gazing  still.  The  tide  of  battle  rose  and 
fell  within  him.  Then  his  hand  shook  like  an  aspen, 
his  whole  frame  trembled,  his  sight  grew  blurred  and 
dim.  Vet  through  the  gust  of  tears  he  looked  again 
upon  the  haggard  face — and  again,  more  clearly  than 
before,  something  of  Jessie's  swam  before  him.  A 
moment  later,  and  his  soul,  surging  like  the  ocean  in 
a  storm,  went  out  in  primal  passion  to  the  quivering 
man ;  swiftly,  overmasteringly,  as  if  forevermore,  he 
took  him  in  his  arms. 

*****  Ht 

"  If  you'll  help  me,  my  son— if  you'll  help  me,  I'll 
try  again."  The  flickering  gas  jet  still  gave  its  light 
above  them  and  the  silent  stars  still  watched  the 
sleeping  city.  And  the  son  still  held  his  father  in 
the  clasp  of  a  long-slumbering,  new-awakened  love. 

"  We'll  fight  it  out  together— and  we'll  win."  the 
lips  of  youth  replied.     "  T  knnv/  all  about  it,  father— 


■The    FLEEING    S  H  A  D  O  U^  S         4,3 

and  I'll  help  all  I  can.  I  promisee:  nx.thcr-I  pn.m- 
.scd  to  bring  you.  father.  Mother's  ua.tu.j;  ;  a„d  I 
said  ued  come  together-and  Jessie  too  " 

"Will  Jessie  love  me  ?  "  the  broken  voice  erquued. 
the  tone  plaintive  with  mingled  l(,ve  and  L-ar 

"  She's  alwa\-s  loved  you,  father/'  and  the  .(^i  s 
voice  was  thrilling  with  compassion.  "We're  bu'th 
your  children,"  and  it  was  pitiful  to  see  the  .ln,„.. 
hps  struggling ;  «  we're  your  cluldren-and  we  prom'^ 
ised  mother."  ^ 

Thus  tlie  gentle  stream  ^o^ved  on.  And  as  tiiey 
talked  a  new  peace  Oowed  mtc  the  haunted  •  ve^  ■ 
and  the  blessed  tidings  of  those  he  loved-, :' her 
u^iose  sweet  face  was  even  now  upon  its  p,ll,,u-,  and 
of  the  .ne  who  dwelt  with  God-came  with  bahn  and 
healing  to  his  soul. 

"I'll  try,  Harvey,"  he  said  again-- and  I'll  trust 
your  mother's  God." 

As   Harvey  guided    him  out  into   the   night   the 

qu.et  stars  above  him  seemed  to  be  the  very  s^nti:!^ 

c  Kuge  had  come  to  him  at  last-over  all  the  uaste 
o  >uars  ;  and  that  the  secret  plan  of  the  Unseen,  it. 
deep  design  ur.dianging.  had  entrusted  to  his  hand 
the  fulfillment  of  .his  mother's  pray  ^rs 


the   r        r,'^      '^''"  =  ^"'  '''^""^'f^^-     And  if  anv  of 
mon   H "      '"   ^'"'"berers,  a   moment  waking,  hJard 
ijpon   the  pavement  the   tread   of  two  silent 
-  cy    -:nev/  not  how  holy   was  the  mission  tf 


men, 
the  mission  that  im- 


4'4 


■THE    IVEB    OF    TIME 


pelicd  these  pilgrims  of  the  night.  They  paused  but 
once,  these  two  ;  before  a  weather-beaten  httie  house, 
empty  now,  its  grimy  shop-window  staring  out  into 
the  dark.  But  the  older  man  seemed  as  if  he  could 
not  look  enough  ;  hke  cathedral  to  reverent  saint  this 
squalid  building  was  to  him.  Once  the  younger  man 
pointed  to  an  upper  window— no  light  gleamed  from 
it  now — but  the  other's  eyes,  even  when  they  had 
left  it  far  behind,  turned  to  caress  it  with  lingering 
tenderness. 

They  passed  together  through  the  gate  that 
guarded  the  little  city  of  the  dead.  The  moon  was 
hidden ;  and  no  word  passed  between  them  as  they 
made  their  way  to  the  holy  of  holic;,  where  lay  their 
precious  dead.  But  Harvey's  hand  went  out  to  his 
father's  ;  and  thus  they  went  on  together,  hand  in 
hand  through  the  darkness,  as  children  go  beneath 
life's  morning  sun. 

They  stopped  beside  two  grassy  graves.  Nearest 
to  them,  at  their  dewy  feet,  lay  the  larger  mound  ; 
the  baby's  nestled  close  beside  it.  The  older  man's; 
head,  uncovered,  was  bowed  in  reverence ;  even  in 
the  dark  Harvey  could  see  the  stamp  of  eternity 
upon  his  face.  The  son's  love,  unspeaking,  went  out 
in  silent  passion  to  his  father ;  so  near  he  seemed,  s<t 
dear,  so  much  his  own  in  that  holy  hour.  Yet  the 
broken  heart  beside  him  carried  a  load  of  anguish  of 
which  the  son  knew  nothing  ;  it  was  torn  by  a  tragedy 
and  rended  by  a  memory  no  other  heart  could  share 
— and  the  weary  eyes  looked  covetously  at  the  quiet 
resting-place  beside  the  waiting  dead. 


•The    FLEEING    SHADOirs         4,5 

His  tears  fcll-on  the  baby's  ...ravc,  JIc  l,.a„,d 
ov^,  as  .  he  .au-rtrst  above  the  one.  tu.n.n,  "^^ 
to  the  o  he -and  God  was  busy  n^cantnue-  .^th'^  e 
wound,  the  long  bleeding,  unstaunched  uound 

Harvey  touched  h.m  on  the  shoulder.     J  le  looked 

a  moment  into  h.s  son  s.ace.  almost  as  if  l.:td 
o  see  Inm  there.     Then  h,s  eyes  turned  aga.n   o    I  e 

only  njounds.  and  he  sank  on  h.s  kne  '  between 
hem.     Keverentb-,  the  yearning  of  the  3ears  fin   "  g 
nou   a  voice,  he  stooped  low  till  his  hp.  touched  the 
od  above  the  .other  s  face.     Then  h  '  ou  n  w  s    p 
turned  to  the  distant  sky.  the  lips  mo^•^lg 

Harvey  knew  the  broken  vow  was  for  God  alone. 

He  turned  a,vay.     The  moon  stole  gently  forth  from 

e  passmg  cloud;  and.  as  he  turned,  his  eye  fe    on 

the  new-dlunnned  verse  graven  on  the  simple  stone  : 

"  Until  the  D..v  Bkeak  and  the  Shadows 

tLEE  AWAV  " 


THE   END 


